Chapter 3 - THE DOCTOR'S SHADOW
Sofia’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She instinctively stepped forward, her body acting as a physical barrier between the light box and the man blocking the exit.
"Dr. Croft," Sofia said, her voice managing to remain remarkably steady despite the terror pooling in her stomach. "I was just... checking a discrepancy on the metabolic protocols for room 3. The infant's nutritional rejection doesn't align with the initial blood work."
Croft didn't move. He simply pushed off the doorframe and took two measured, deliberate steps into the small room. The faint scent of expensive cologne mixed sharply with the sterile smell of antiseptic.
"Is that right?" Croft murmured, his gaze dropping to the edge of the papers visible past Sofia's hip. "Funny. That file belongs to an administrative ward from the west side district. Nothing to do with Mr. Marchetti's son."
"A child is a patient, Doctor," Sofia replied, her chin lifting slightly. "In this unit, every file matters."
"Of course they do," Croft said softly, his voice dropping an octave, losing its professional veneer entirely. He stopped just inches away from her. Up close, Sofia could see the small, cold smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "And brilliant nurses who spend their shifts digging through archives late at night tend to have very short careers, Sofia. It would be a terrible waste of talent. You're a good nurse. Your evaluations are glowing. Why ruin all of that over a administrative clerical error?"
"It's not a clerical error," Sofia said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "It’s a substitution. Someone switched the babies the night of the bombing. Why, Dr. Croft? Who ordered it?"
Croft’s eyes hardened into flint. The mask of the polite, overworked physician vanished completely, replaced by the face of a man deeply entrenched in a web far darker than any hospital hallway.
"Some questions don't have answers worth dying for, Nurse Reyes," Croft said quietly. "Put the files back. Go home. Forget you opened that cabinet. If you do that, you get to keep your job, your license, and your life. Cross this line, and neither I nor the men Dante Marchetti pays to protect his family will be able to save you from what comes next."
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Before Sofia could formulate a response, Croft turned on his heel and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. He didn't lock her in, and he didn't call security. He didn't have to. He had given her a warning wrapped in a death sentence.
Sofia looked back down at the papers. The truth was glaringly, terrifyingly clear. And Dante Marchetti was sitting three floors down, glaring at a stranger's dying child while his true flesh and blood was somewhere out there in the city, entirely unprotected.
