The fourth month of residency was proving to be James’ most difficult yet. Haas had not spoken to him since the chondrosarcoma case. When she saw him in the hall, she would turn her head or briskly pass. It was not subtle. The other attendings and residents noticed too. Even Deanna.

At noon, James sat at a cafeteria table alone, stirring his soup but not tasting it. The seat across from him filled without warning.

“Cheer up, Dr. Deetan.” Deanna slid her tray in front of her. “Even Haas can’t ignore talent forever.”

James smirked. “She’s doing a pretty good job of it.”

“She’ll come around.” Deanna broke her bread roll and handed half to him. “You’re still standing. That says something.”

Her easy kindness disarmed him. He wanted to tell her about the phone call from his mother, his father’s illness, the shame, the exile. Instead, he just nodded and chewed in silence.

“Tell you what,” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “come by my office later this week. I’ll show you the slides for next week’s unknowns before Dan gets his hands on them. That way, you’ll be three steps ahead.”

James chuckled. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Maybe. But it’ll be worth it.”

The cafeteria noise dimmed as her jasmine perfume mixed with the scent of baked bread. For a moment, there was no Haas, no fear of failure, just Deanna.

“Mind if I join?” Wilma’s New Orleans lilt broke the spell. She dropped her tray next to James and smiled like she owned the table. “I saw you moping from across the room. Don’t let her—” she jerked her thumb toward the ceiling, in Haas’ direction—“get under your skin. Woman’s got ice water in her veins.”

“Wilma,” Deanna greeted with a polite smile, but her eyes cooled.

James tried to bridge the sudden chill. “Wilma’s right. I need to toughen up.”

“Not toughen up,” Wilma corrected, stabbing her fork at her salad. “Play the game. You’re not in Manila anymore. Around here, politics is half the diagnosis.” Her eyes lingered on him. “I can teach you.”

Deanna took a slow sip of her iced tea. “Or you can keep your focus where it belongs—on the patients. That’s how you win respect.”

The air between them was charged. James shifted in his seat, caught between the grounded grace of Deanna and the playful boldness of Wilma. Both women saw something in him; both demanded a different kind of loyalty.

Before he could speak, Dan dropped his tray on the table. “What is this, the Deetan fan club? No wonder you look distracted, my man.”

The table erupted in nervous laughter, but James wasn’t laughing. He realized in that instant that his training wasn’t just about glass slides and diagnoses. It was about alliances, perceptions, and the faces people wore in battle—Haas’ icy glare, Wilma’s mischievous grin, Deanna’s steady gaze.

The real enemy wasn’t just disease under the microscope. It was everything outside of it.

Next Chapter: Chapter 16-Condyloma Queen