Page 27 of Hooked On Victor
She wiped her hands carefully on her scrub pants, forcing them to stop shaking.
“I’ll be right there.”
She closed the chart. Too carefully.
Then she turned and walked to the front desk, each step deliberate, her sneakers squeaking just slightly on the polished floor.
The man at the counter didn’t belong here.
He stood out like an unspoken threat.
The clinic’s battered chairs and old posters made him look even sharper by contrast. His coat was tailored, black wool with crisp shoulders that fit perfectly. His hair was dark, slicked back neatly, not a strand out of place. His shoes were polished to a mirror sheen despite the mud outside.
But it was his stillness that set her teeth on edge.
He didn’t shift. Didn’t check his phone. Didn’t tap the counter.
He justwaited, patient in the way of something predatory.
His eyes flicked to her when she approached.
Black. Flat. Unreadable.
He didn’t smile in greeting.
But when he spoke, his voice was smooth enough to pour.
“I’m looking for someone,” he said. “Victor Roman. I was told he was brought in here after a motorcycle accident.”
The words were careful. Measured.
Rose didn’t let her expression flicker.
“We don’t release patient information without authorization,” she said evenly.
He watched her.
There was no anger in his eyes. Just calculation.
“Of course.” His mouth shifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “But if he’s here, please tell him Nikolai stopped by.”
Her pulse tripped.
He must have seen it.
Because that not-smile turned razor-thin.
“Tell him,” he said softly, “that the past is tired of being forgotten.”
She felt her stomach drop away.
Then he turned on his heel with smooth, effortless grace and walked out the door without another word.
The glass rattled in its frame as it shut.
For a moment she just stood there, her breath scraping too loud in her ears.
The receptionist blinked at her.
