Chapter 1: The Bright-Eyed Newcomer

​The sliding glass doors of St. Jude’s Hospital didn't just open for Dr. Felix; they seemed to usher him in like a guest of honor. At twenty-eight, Felix was the picture of pure, unadulterated ambition, his white coat still crisp and devoid of the yellowing wear that plagued the veterans. He didn't just walk the halls; he vibrated through them, a human tuning fork of optimism in a building defined by sickness.

​"Good morning, Marcus! How’s the knee holding up after that surgery?" Felix called out, pausing to clap a hand on the shoulder of one of the senior janitors.

​Marcus looked up, startled that a doctor—let alone a specialist—remembered his name. "Getting there, Doc. Slow and steady."

​"That’s the spirit. If you need a refill on those anti-inflammatories, come find me in Anesthesiology," Felix winked, moving on before Marcus could even say thank you.

​By the end of his first month, Felix was the "Golden Boy." He was the first to offer a coffee to a nurse who had pulled a double shift and the last to leave the bedside of a terrified child facing their first surgery. His bedside manner wasn't just a skill; it was a performance.

​"You make it look too easy, Felix," Nurse Sarah whispered as they stood over a patient in the pre-op bay.

​Felix checked the vitals, his fingers dancing over the monitor with practiced grace. "It’s not work if you love the puzzle, Sarah. Every patient is a different lock. I just have to find the right key to put them to sleep safely."

​But his rapid ascent didn't sit well with everyone. In the corner of the surgical lounge, Dr. Vane sat like a shadow cast by the vending machine. Vane was twenty years Felix’s senior, a man whose hands had begun to develop a microscopic tremor he masked with heavy rings. He watched the way the staff gravitated toward Felix, a bitter fire sparking in his chest. To Vane, Felix wasn't a prodigy; he was a reminder of everything Vane had lost: relevance, steady nerves, and the spotlight.

​On a quiet public holiday, the hospital felt hollow, the usual roar of activity dampened to a low hum. Felix sat hunched over a stack of charts in his small, dimly lit office, the blue light of the computer screen making him look ghostly. A floorboard creaked. Felix turned to find Vane standing in the doorway, his silhouette blocking the hall light.

​"You’re working too late, Felix," Vane said, his voice dripping with a forced, oily concern.

​Felix smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes this time. "Just finishing the Sterling report, Dr. Vane. Accuracy is everything, right?"

​Vane stepped into the room, the smell of stale tobacco and antiseptic clinging to him. He leaned over Felix’s desk, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "Be careful, boy. Those who fly very high tend to burn down their own wings. And when you fall in a place like this, there’s no one at the bottom to catch you."

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