Seven pulled into the parking garage at Inova Fairfax Medical Campus, killing the engine with a practiced flick of his wrist. The overcast sky on this Monday muted the midday sunlight, the thick clouds reflecting off the windshield and casting soft, diffused shadows across his chiseled features.

  He adjusted the cuff of his Zegna dress shirt beneath his form-fitting charcoal BOSS blazer, the fabric crisp against his wrist, a rare departure from the surgical scrubs and military uniforms he usually donned. He reminded himself that today wasn’t about saving lives. It was a formality, a necessary evil wrapped in pleasantries and bureaucracy. Still, a quiet irritation settled in his bones. He had little patience for ceremonies, for the hollow rituals of small talk and handshakes that did nothing to move the needle. Lives weren’t saved like this.

  The physician’s lounge had been repurposed for the occasion. Rows of chairs, a long buffet table lined with catered dishes, and the hum of casual banter filled the space. The scent of roasted chicken and steamed vegetables mingled with the faint antiseptic tang of the hospital, a reminder of where they were and what truly mattered.

  Seven stepped inside, already dreading what was to come. He took in the clusters of colleagues chatting over plates of food and drew a steadying breath.

  “Dr. Seven,” an unfamiliar voice called out.

  Seven pivoted and saw a middle-aged man with distinctly Asian features approach him. His dark eyes were sharp yet welcoming. There was a quiet authority in his measured demeanor as he stuck his hand out. “I’m Iyashi Koju, Director of the trauma unit. Good to have you officially on board.”

  He shook his head with a small chuckle. “We were hoping to get you full-time, but even Walter Reed couldn’t manage that. The fact that we snagged you as an affiliate consultant, I’ll call that a win.”

  Seven smirked. “You have Nate to thank then.”

  Iyashi tittered as he gestured toward Nathan, who stood nearby holding a thick manila envelope. “Let’s take care of the formalities first, shall we?”

  Nathan stepped forward, handing over the stack of HR policies, the contract, and a navy-and-white staff badge, Seven’s name embossed in bold letters. “You’ll have full consulting privileges, meaning you can take the lead on cases, access patient files remotely, and use any of our surgical suites at will.”

  He tapped the badge. “This’ll get you through all restricted areas.”

  Seven skimmed the contract before signing, sliding it back across the table. “And policies?”

  “Standard procedures,” Iyashi replied. “Just don’t pull any cowboy stunts without patient consent.”

  “No promises.”

  Nearby, a few of the attending surgeons cackled. Seven didn’t bother explaining that sometimes there wasn’t time for consent—that in the critical moments between life and death, bureaucracy held no weight. That conversation could wait for another day.

  The gathering moved into easier topics, plates filling with food as colleagues shared anecdotes. Raphael Taylor and Galen Moore steered the discussion toward the time they had assisted Seven in James’s surgery.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “I swear, I’ve never seen anything like it,” Galen said, impressed. “The patient would have been paralyzed for life after we stabilized him. Then Seven walked in with his BioBrace, reattached the splintered cord, and casually harvested the patient’s stem cells for reinjection.”

  Raphael added, “It was like watching someone rewrite the rules of medicine in real-time.”

  Seven took a sip of his drink, unimpressed by the dramatization. “It was a calculated approach, not a miracle.”

  Iyashi leaned in, intrigued. “Speaking of the BioBrace, was it something you developed?”

  Seven inclined his head slightly. “Yes, with Walter Reed. But I’m in the process of setting up Sevana Biotics. Among other things, I’ll be researching and developing biomedical devices like the BioBrace and pharmaceuticals.”

  Iyashi’s tone shifted, sharp and interested. “If your products work, it could be a game-changer. You could become a supplier. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll bring them up to President Narrang.”

  Before Seven could respond, a familiar voice cut through the room.

  “Seven.”

  Natasha Gill approached him, her presence announced by the deliberate click of her heels against the linoleum floor. She wasn’t in her usual scrubs today. Instead, she wore a tailored dress, an outfit that seemed intentional to command attention. She stopped just close enough to warrant his notice but not so close as to appear overly eager, her posture poised and her hands clasped loosely in front of her.

  Nathan muttered under his breath, “Brace yourself.”

  At Nathan’s warning, Seven turned just as Natasha offered him a bright, practiced smile. “Seven,” she repeated, “mind if I steal you for a second?” Her words were smooth and syrupy sweet.

  “I’m actually in the middle of something,” Seven said, barely glancing at her.

  “Just give me a second,” she pressed, linking her hands behind her back, a gesture that seemed both casual yet respectful. “Dad has something he’d like me to tell you.”

  Seven’s jaw tightened. Nolan Gill. The man had been a brilliant mentor who had shaped him with clinical precision. And Natasha had always been there, hovering at the periphery, watching, waiting.

  “He’s still waiting for your call,” she said, tilting her head, her message laden with ambiguity. “Since he was such an important mentor to you, he hopes you’d listen to his advice.”

  Seven drew in a slow breath. “What advice exactly?”

  “He doesn’t want you wasting your time on people who don’t understand you,” she pressed, her gaze flitting briefly to the side, betraying a flicker of unease she quickly masked. “You deserve someone who gets the depth of your work, someone who has a history with you.”

  Seven set his glass down, the soft clink against the table cutting through the tension. “What does who I’m with have anything to do with my work?”

  Her lips parted, but for a moment, no words came out. She looked away, her smile faltering. “I—”

  Seven straightened, his expression hardening. “I already told Nathan to tell you. I don’t see you that way.”

  Her fingers twitched, curling slightly as if to steady herself. “Because you won’t give it a chance,” she said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “You’re throwing away something that could actually make sense.”

  Seven snorted. “You don’t even know her!”

  The color drained from her face, leaving her momentarily pale. She took half a step back, tentative. “I was just—”

  “You’re just making a spectacle of yourself,” he said flatly, cutting her off. “At a formal event.”

  “Excuse me.” He stepped past her, dismissing this confrontation.

  Nathan let out a low whistle. “That went well.”

  Seven shot him a glare, irritation flashing, before he swiveled back to Iyashi, who was waiting for him by the buffet. In his mind, the conversation was over. He had no intention of entertaining Natasha’s delusions any further. There were more important things to focus on, and Natasha Gill wasn’t one of them.

  Natasha stood frozen, her cheeks aflame and her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers curled into tight fists, nails pressing crescent moons into her palms. The hum of the room seemed to fade, leaving only the echo of Seven’s words ringing in her ears. She blinked rapidly, willing the sting in her eyes to subside, and straightened her shoulders with a shaky inhale. Then, she turned on her heel, her stilettoes clicking a sharp, hurried rhythm against the floor as she retreated.