The Billionaire's Blood Debt

The rain hadn’t let up since morning. A slow, stubborn drizzle soaked the city of Boston and each time Zaria Monroe looked outside the windows of St. Asella’s General Hospital, the sidewalks had turned into darker shades of gray. She moved quietly through the east wig, her ID badge bouncing lightly against her chest with each step. Zaria’s sneakers squeaked faintly against the linoleum floor as she pushed a mobile vitals cart from one room to the next. “Zaria, can you check Room 209 when you’re done there?” a nurse, Diana, called from the station. Zaria nodded before the question was even finished. “On it”, she replied with a smile. She was always on it. Always available. But first, she had to stop at Room 207, occupied by an elderly woman who was recuperating very well from a bad bout of pneumonia. Zaria offered her a warm smile before gently checking her vitals and asking the standard questions. When she was done, she updated the chart and wheeled the cart into the hallway. He

Zaria stepped out into the cool rainy night but the silence after the chaos unsettled her. Everything seemed too different; the streetlights were suddenly too bright. Even worse, within her, she could feel the buzzing getting louder and louder. It was nearly midnight but the city wasn’t fully asleep. Cars passed occasionally, flashing like camera bulbs. She could hear a siren wailing in the distance. Even after such a major disaster, life went on. Desperate to drown out the sounds, she decided to focus on her steps. But her mind kept replaying her encounter with the gravely injured man and the depth of emotions she had never felt before in her life. “Maybe I am exhausted”, she said to herself. You’re almost done, Z. One semester left. One more push. Then boards. Then residency. Then maybe you’ll have a life.This time though, the thought didn’t comfort her the way it used to. Not when her bank account had barely three digits. She stopped at a crosswalk, the red hand blinking acros

The Syndicate chamber was cold tonight. The ancient stone walls held centuries of secrets, etched with runes that pulsed faintly under the glowing flame torches. The table was nearly full with Dorian Vale, the Chancellor, seated at the head. Around him, the rest of the council members murmured. Lucien Draeger arrived with a measured stride, deftly unbuttoning his suit jacket before taking his seat at the left side of Dorian. It was common for him to arrive last, something they had all come to expect. But to Lucien, it was more of a deliberate choice. “You’re late”, Father Anselm muttered under his breath. The pious purist still preferred to wear his 14th century priest garments during meetings. Beside him was Raoul Mercer, a man built like a fortress. Once Lucien’s best friend, there wasn’t a day that now went by that Raoul wouldn’t sneer wickedly at him, his jaws clenching so tightly in eternal distrust. Next to Raoul was Lady Isolde Lennox, an English noblewoman with fine alabast