The fluorescent lights of the executive suite at City General flickered with a clinical, unfeeling hum. Zen sat behind his desk, his suit jacket discarded on a nearby chair, his silk tie loosened. On his monitor, the procurement flag was glowing red—a massive, irregular order from the Dupont estate that had bypassed the standard pharmacy filters due to its "Priority Alpha" status.
Zen's eyes were bloodshot. He had been staring at the line items for three hours. At first, he thought it was an insult—Skyler rubbing her victory in his face by ordering supplies from his hospital to treat the man she had stolen. But then, his surgical mind, the one that looked for patterns in chaos, began to itch.
"Norepinephrine... 0924 units?" Zen whispered, his voice a low rasp.
