Page 105 of Strays
He hesitates for just a second. “I’ll be honest: this case matters to me for more than one reason. It’s high-profile, at least locally. It already hit the press. If MAB stays involved, it could go national. I’m not a partner at my firm yet, but a clean, successful case like this could change things. So it’s personal, but it’s professional too.”
Shane leans back, arms crossed. “Motivation’s motivation.”
I nod. “I like knowing there’s something in it for you. Makes me trust you more, not less.”
Jayme cracks a smile. “Then we’re all in. About that MAB lawyer, Jo said no one’s contacted you yet. I’ll dig into that tomorrow. If someone’s been assigned, I want to know who they are and what they’re doing. If they’re good, I’ll coordinate. If they’re not, we’ll handle it ourselves.”
Jo’s face softens, relief mixed with lingering tension. “Thank you, Jayme. What you’re doing means a lot to me.”
Jay adds, “Yeah. We appreciate it.”
After our conversation, we all join Alice and Kate in the backyard. Kate sees us and runs straight toward our group, but instead of heading for Jayme, shestops in front of Shane and lifts her arms, clearly asking to be picked up.
We all freeze.
Most humans don’t feel comfortable with us around their kids, so keeping our distance from the little ones is already second nature. Shane looks from Jayme to Alice, startled.
But Alice just laughs, breaking the tension. “She’s a smart cookie. Had me tossing her in the air earlier, so she probably figured someone your size can really launch her.”
Shane stays frozen. After a beat, Kate lowers her arms, expression unsure but still waiting.
Jo nudges him gently. “You can pick her up. She’ll be fine.”
Shane lowers himself and, very carefully, lifts her into his arms. Kate glances back at Alice, but doesn’t squirm, doesn’t cry, just settles against him.
Shane still looks half-panicked. “There’s no way I’m tossing you, little lady. Not unless you sign a waiver first.”
I am formallyrequesting approval to develop a pilot Gregalis Health Clinic within Joseph Monsoon Hospital. This dedicated unit would address the critical absence of care protocols for gregalis patients, beginning with a comprehensive prenatal and perinatal program for nyras, many of whom currently have no safe access to basic reproductive services.
Despite clear evidence that the gregalis endocrine and reproductive systems require different clinical approaches than standard human treatment protocols, there is currently no health institution in the country providing dedicated services or developing clinical guidelines for this population. This gap has contributed to preventable complications and avoidable deaths, as documented in a national mortality study.
Given that I am currently the only gregalis physician in the country, Joseph Monsoon Hospital is uniquely positioned to pioneer this work. I recognize that it is not standard practice for a resident physician to propose and lead the development of a new clinical program. However, under these circumstances, I believe an exception is not only reasonable but necessary.
This proposal is not an expansion for its own sake; it is a necessary step toward delivering evidence-based, patient-centered care to a population that has been systematically overlooked for too long. As medical professionals, we have an obligation to correct that.
Dr. Johane Larsen
Internal Medicine Resident
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Cold-Chain
In the next week, the progress we’re making is plain to see: we’re all a little uncomfortable in our clothes with everything fitting tighter. The sensory training moves faster, and now we're usually out of the garrison by four.
But the biggest breakthrough comes Friday, back at the DEA office.
We’ve had the evidence chart up for days, each photo and note pinned or taped with careful precision. We’ve stared at it a thousand times, walked past it twice as many, but nothing ever jumped out.
Jay had been standing in front of it with arms crossed for ten minutes when he says, “Come here.”
Shane and I flank him on either side.
“Look at these photos,” Jay mutters, eyes locked on the board. “This one.” He taps a victim photo. “You see that?”
I squint. On the floor, next to the victim’s foot, is a melted gel pack. Barely visible and easy to overlook unless you’re looking for it.
“And here.” He taps another image: another overdose, another apartment. A torn cardboard box sits open on a couch with white styrofoam and the glint of foil lining inside.
