Imogen stood in front of The Ward with one plastic bag stuffed full of fabric and another bag with the clothes Verity had given her. Not that she would wear anything other than the shoes. But it had been a kind thought, so Imogen had taken them when she left.

Living in Chance’s living room had become untenable. Aside from the complete lack of freedom or privacy, there was also an issue of the ongoing athletics in the bedroom. She was shut up day and night with the love-birds and just couldn’t take it anymore. When Chance suggested coming here, she’d jumped on it without thinking.

The building looked deserted, completely derelict. The rickshaw that brought her here had insisted Chance pay the triple credits upfront instead of at the end of the trip, because he’d been certain it was a prank. But this was no joke. This was Imogen’s new life.

She stepped over broken glass and rubble, shook the collecting dust from her skirt, and entered the building. Her footsteps echoed in the open, vacant space. Here, no elevator would take her to the next floor, and no kind compound boy would carry her load for her. So, she ascended the stairs, stepping over blood stains, careful not to catch her clothes on ancient handrails that had pulled from the wall and dangled in the stairway.

At the third floor she passed through a set of double doors and everything changed. Lights shone bright overhead and people bustled around the room, most noticeably the handsome cyborg who had saved Chance’s life.

Enver.

His black straight hair hung loose around his ears and shoulders, wild with haphazard layers. He had on blue gloves, as he examined someone in a gurney, eyes narrow and focused. His small nose and broad forehead gave the achingly perfect cheekbones balance. It was like his bone structure was right beneath the skin, no muscle or fat at all, just stark contrasts and surprisingly full lips.

When he finished with his patient, he pulled off the gloves and turned to her. “I thought I heard the clomp-clomp-clomp of compound shoes.”

Imogen scowled.

“Aren’t you moving into Verity’s apartment?”

“I can’t. The floors are still stained with blood, and no one has claimed the building since Wicksham died. Chance doesn’t think it’s safe.”

“He’s generally a good judge of that since he seems to run right toward anything the least bit dangerous.”

Imogen allowed herself a demure smile and looked down. “Thank you for taking me in and offering me a room here.”

“Well, if you’re going to stay, you’re going to work. That’s the deal. Even the patients work once they’re well enough, otherwise it’d just be me surrounded by dead bodies.”

“You really have a way with words, don’t you?”

“No time for pussy-footing or willy-waggin.’” He laughed, but Imogen didn’t have any idea what was funny.

“I can work. I am a trained midwife, and an expert seamstress.”

“That’s fabulous. The next time we have a planned healthy birth or the need for a petticoat, I’ll be sure to get you. Until then, sounds like you can do decent stitches and aren’t bothered by blood. Both traits I can definitely use.”

Imogen huffed but kept her mouth shut.

“Put your bags upstairs. My room’s at the end of the hall next to the bathroom, the rest of the floor is empty, so pick wherever you’re the most comfortable. Put your shit down, then come back. I have a spleen to remove before it ruptures and could use help.”

“Surgery? I’ve never performed surgery!” Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline, and she could barely believe her ears.

“Good thing I have then. I need you to hold the skin back and help me stitch things up with nice, straight, tight embroidery knots when I’m done. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m so reassured.”

Enver's eyebrows lowered, and he stared at her until she felt like she might melt under his gaze. “If you can’t handle it, say so. I can find some bedpans for you to empty.”

“I’ll be fine. A little blood doesn’t bother me.” She lifted her chin and turned on her heel. The sound of his laugh followed her, as the doors swung shut, and she climbed to the next floor. Her new home.

How was she possibly going to make a life here?

* * *

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