The sterile hum of Inova’s radiology department filled the air. Seven leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze tracking James as the orderly wheeled him toward the MRI room. James’s jaw was tight, his hands gripping the armrest of his wheelchair with barely concealed tension. The faint tremor in his fingers betrayed the calm veneer.

  “You’ll be fine,” Seven said, voice steady. “It’s just to review your progress.”

  James smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He knew how much had gone into his recovery—surgeries, stem-cell injections, the relentless acupuncture treatments. Seven had been there through it all, pushing him to fight through the pain when giving up would’ve been easier.

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  As James disappeared behind the doors, Seven’s cell phone lit up. He pulled it out, frowning at the group chat messages from Katherine:

  [Good news!]

  [Wendy and Cloche had a bust-up over the weekend]...

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