Free Web NovelChapter 49: Chapter 49 – New One
The world was muffled in white. Snow pressed against the windowpanes, softening every sound. Inside, the room held the warmth of shared blankets and the steady weight of Malcolm’s arm draped across Iyisha’s waist.
His breath stirred faintly against her hair. The faint scent of soap and gun oil lingered around him, grounding and sharp all at once.
Iyisha woke first. She stayed still, afraid to shift even an inch. She wanted to savor the heat of his arm, the solidity of his chest behind her, yet the fear of what would follow kept her rigid.
She counted his breaths to steady her nerves, aware of every knuckle resting lightly above her hip.
Her thigh brushed against him and she froze. Heat shot up her face. She felt the hardness there, undeniable, and the memory of that night flashed across her mind. freewebnøvel.coɱ
Desire cut into her, tangled with shame and longing. Her chest ached. She bit the inside of her cheek and willed herself to stay still, pretending sleep might hold him there.
Malcolm stirred. His arm tightened around her waist for a heartbeat. That single pressure sparked foolish hope that maybe he wanted to stay, that maybe he wanted her too.
But then he groaned, pulled away, and the weight was gone. The bed dipped as he sat up.
Iyisha buried her face in the pillow, cheeks burning. Why will you not let me in, she whispered inwardly. The question had carved its place in her heart, always there, always unanswered.
The bathroom door clicked shut, and the rush of water followed. She pressed her palms against her face, trying to quiet her racing pulse. By the time he returned, she lay still, feigning sleep.
Through the sliver of her lashes she watched him lace his boots, holster his pistol, and stand in silence. For a moment he looked as though he might speak, but the moment passed. The door closed softly behind him.
Her hand drifted to her waist where his arm had rested, holding on to the fading warmth.
The classroom smelled of chalk dust and boiled water. A dozen students sat at a long table, notebooks open, eyes on Iyisha. A crude anatomy chart hung on the wall. Mary stood at the back, arms crossed, watching with approval.
"Two fingers here," Iyisha instructed, guiding a girl’s hand to the pulse at her wrist. "Count for fifteen seconds, then multiply by four. That is your heartbeat per minute."
Her voice steadied as she moved between them. She showed how to clean a wound, how to apply pressure, how to spot the signs of infection. Step by step, her confidence returned. For a moment she was her old self again.
At the end of the day, as she and Mary were preparing to go to the greenhouse, Mary spoke about the students and how quickly they were learning.
A knock on the door.
Michael appeared in a guard’s uniform with a basket slung at his side. His grin carried easy charm.
"Hi," he said.
Mary lifted her brows. "Why are you here?"
"Nothing... just thought maybe you would like apples," he answered, sneaking a glance at Iyisha.
Mary smirked. "Are these for Iyisha?" she asked.
Iyisha stepped closer, her cheeks warming, and thanked him softly, her voice carrying both shyness and gratitude.
Mary teased Michael, and Iyisha felt a flicker of flattered warmth. Mary leaned on the table, smirking. "So, you are bringing her apples now? What else are you planning to bring? Flowers?"
Michael rubbed the back of his neck, still grinning. "Maybe if I can find some that survive the snow."
Iyisha shook her head quickly, embarrassed.
"Mary, stop."
"Fine, fine," Mary said with a mischievous glint. "But what if Malcolm finds out about this?"
Michael shrugged. "Malcolm said they are not together."
Iyisha’s smile froze. She was about to ask Michael why he said that when the shouts cut through the hall.
She only managed a quiet nod and another thank you before shouts erupted in the corridor. They put the apples down as men rushed past, carrying a woman whose body was covered in blood.
The alarm sounded from the emergency room, loud and urgent. Boots thudded in the corridor as Iyisha and Mary rushed toward the commotion, hearts racing.
A woman was carried inside, limp, blood streaking her coat.
"Gunshot!" someone shouted. "Ambush!"
The copper tang of blood thickened the air. Iyisha stepped forward, instincts taking hold. "Clear the corridor. Boiled water, gloves, cloth. Sutures if you have them." Mary was already at her side, laying out instruments with practiced hands.
Iyisha checked quickly. Airway clear. Breathing shallow. Pulse racing. Skin pale and clammy. She peeled back the sleeve and saw the wound.
A graze along the upper arm. Shallow, not deep. The bleeding was thin, slow. Not enough to leave her like this.
Iyisha pushed her doubt aside and worked. She irrigated the wound, applied a sterile strip, and pressed a bandage in place. She elevated the arm and called for antibiotics.
Mary exhaled with relief. "Lucky she was found in time."
Iyisha only nodded, though inside, unease coiled. This was not luck. The wound was too light for the amount of blood. Something did not add up.
She ordered hourly checks through the night. Pupils, vitals, responsiveness. She asked if anyone had seen tracks in the snow where she was found. The answers were vague.
Mary returned with a clipboard while the students tended to the woman. She looked at Iyisha and said, "They found her not far from here, alone in the snow."
"She is not from here?" Iyisha asked.
Mary shook her head, suspicion flickering across her face. The students wheeled the patient into the quarantine room while the two women followed.
Iyisha lowered her voice. "The wound is too shallow for that much blood."
Mary nodded slowly. "We will not know what happened until she wakes," she said, though her eyes betrayed doubt. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
They watched as the woman was stripped for bite checks. There were no marks. That meant she was a wanderer. Iyisha’s chest tightened. The wound was too shallow, too clean. Something about this was wrong.
Iyisha nodded, but the doubt stayed. The wound was too shallow, too clean. It did not match the blood that stained her coat or the way the men carried her as if she were dying.
The thought rose sharp in her chest — what if this woman had been planted here? What if the wound was meant to fool them?
But...
She and Malcolm had been brought in the same way.
Iyisha pressed her lips together. If she questioned this woman, then what right did she have to be here at all?
