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Salt in the Wound Ward
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Room 414 smelled of iodine and old flowers. Dana, the night nurse, set down the morning chart and stopped cold. Mara was already there, her administrator badge catching the light, her lanyard crooked like she'd dressed in a hurry. In the bed lay Eli Voss, oxygen tube under his nose, eyes half open. "You shouldn't be in here," Dana said. Mara didn't move. "We need to talk before he wakes up."
Eli's hand twitched on the blanket. His cracked lips moved. "Dana," he whispered, ignoring Mara completely. "You're the only one I trust here. Come close." Dana leaned in. Mara stiffened, suddenly afraid of what this dying man might say.
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