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Summary
Samira was almost to the locker room when she crashed headfirst into Nazely. Wearing a bloodied trauma gown and an ashen expression, the young doctor paused before speaking.
“Dr. Mohan, d-did you get our messages? We’ve been calling you for a few hours.”
“What messages? I'm not late,” Samira frowned, at that moment taking a look at her phone for the first time since last night and immediately feeling dizzy at what she saw. Over 30 missed calls, all from PTMC, and what looked to be dozens and dozens of text messages.
“Oh my god,” Nazely stuttered, “you don’t know.” Her eyes beneath the trauma goggles slowly welled up as she mumbled something incoherently for a minute before Samira heard someone call out from Trauma 5 about needing more O-neg.
That's Jack's blood type, Samira thought.
Series
- Part 2 of EP/LP