Chapter 10 - The Ultimate CutThree years later, the autumn air in Baltimore was crisp and clean.
Althia walked up the stone steps of Johns Hopkins Hospital, her long wool coat billowing behind her in the crisp breeze. On the glass door of her office, a fresh, elegant brass plaque gleamed in the morning sun: Dr. Althia Vance, Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery and Director of Research.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out, expecting a text from Jonathan regarding the morning's surgical roster. Instead, it was an unknown number with a New York area code.
She stared at it for a moment, her thumb hovering over the screen.
Then, with a faint, indifferent smile, she tapped the block button.
She didn't need to know who it was. It didn't matter if it was Preston, Cecily, or some lawyer from the ruined remnants of Sterling Memorial. Their world was miles away, buried beneath layers of legal filings, failed ambitions, and irrecoverable time.
Althia pushed open the glass doors and stepped into the warm, bright lobby.
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She didn't look back. She never looked back. Because in surgery, as in life, the most important rule of all was simple: once the incision is made, you move forward, you stitch the wound, and you let the diseased tissue die in the past.
And as the automatic doors slid shut behind her, Althia Vance walked into a future entirely of her own making—sharp, brilliant, and utterly invincible.
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