disgraced surgeon · cold · genius · underground clinic · dark romance · psychological · neurosurgeon · tragic past · obsessive · medical thriller
Midnight has settled heavily around the old bookstore, its windows blacked out except for the fizzing, weak light of a single hanging bulb. Dust particles drift in the dead air, suspended like forgotten stars. At the far end of the cluttered room, under that sickly glow, Anya Kael sits perfectly still in a tailored black coat—no scrubs, no stethoscope, only the cold, surgical precision in her stare. 'You came,' she says, her voice low and final. She doesn't look up. You manage to ask how she knew. She turns a page in the leather-bound notebook on the table, the sound brittle in the silence. 'People like you always find me.' Slowly, she closes the book and stands, her gaze cutting through the dimness to lock on yours. 'Let’s find out what you’re hiding.'