"Lily isn't like you. She's innocent. No connections, no safety net. She's barely surviving in this department."
"As her mentor, what's wrong with looking out for her? Why are you making this into a scandal?"
A soft knock interrupted us.
A head poked through the door—Lily Fox.
Drowning in an oversized white coat, she looked fragile and sweet.
"Senior… am I interrupting?"
She glanced between us, timid, then raised her hand. A faint red mark on her index finger.
"I nicked myself opening an ampoule. It really stings."
Adrian's icy demeanor melted instantly.
He crossed the room, cradled her hand in his, voice impossibly gentle.
"How could you be so careless? Let me see."
"Tsk, the skin's broken. Let the nurses handle this kind of rough work. Those hands are meant for a scalpel."
I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. Utterly absurd.
Three years ago, when a violent patient rushed at Adrian with a knife, I didn't hesitate. I threw myself in front of him.
The blade went straight through my left palm. Severed the nerves.
What did Adrian say back then?
At my hospital bedside, peeling an apple without looking up, his voice cold:
"Useless. Your hand's ruined. You're stuck doing paperwork now."