The sliding doors of the airport parted with a sharp hiss as Dr. Eliza Monroe hurried inside. Her heels clicked unevenly against the polished floor. She clutched her phone in one hand and reread the message she had received less than an hour earlier.

A patient in Santa Monica had taken a sudden turn for the worse. There was internal bleeding. The complications were unexpected and severe. Eliza was the only specialist available who had experience working on a similar caseHer chest tightened as she scanned the departure board. Only one flight remained, and boarding would begin soon.

Eliza rushed to the airline counter. Relief washed over her when she saw that the line was short. Her nerves were frayed, and her thoughts raced ahead to operating rooms and critical decisions she might soon face. When she reached the counter, her fingers trembled as she opened her purse to retrieve her identification and credit card.The zipper snagged. Before she could stop it, the contents spilled onto the floor. A lipstick rolled away. Papers were scattered across the tiles. Her phone slid under the counter.

“Oh no,” she whispered as she knelt.While she gathered her belongings, a sharply dressed couple stepped up behind her. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. An expensive watch gleamed on his wrist under the fluorescent lights. The woman beside him carried herself quietly. Her eyes were observant and thoughtful.

“We need two tickets to Santa Monica,” the man said briskly. He tapped his fingers against the counter.

The airline agent, a young man named Aaron, hesitated. His gaze moved between Eliza and the couple.

I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “We only have two seats left on that flight.”

Eliza looked up. Her face was pale but composed.