Ava said nothing.
“She needs to be terminated,” Cassandra continued. “And if she isn’t, the Whitmore Trust will reconsider every dollar it contributes to this institution.”
The threat was surgical. The Whitmore Trust funded half the oncology research wing.
Helena exhaled slowly. “Ava,” she said quietly, “go to staff services. We’ll review the incident.”
Cassandra’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.
Ava reached into the collar of her scrubs.
The medal was hidden against her chest, not for display, not for validation. It was heavy, cold, and real.
When she placed it in her palm, the hallway went silent.
The Silver Star caught the fluorescent light, worn edges dulled by time.
Cassandra stared. “What is that?”
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