Page 6 of Elas (Mate’s Mark #2)

August

Polished concrete floors and stainless steel tables greet us inside the clinic, significantly more modern than anything I’ve ever seen.

The entire building smells faintly of bleach, and there’s not a speck of dirt to be found.

Individual patient rooms line the tiled walls, loaded with sterile equipment and mechanical beds.

It’s a far cry from what I’d grown accustomed to at the camp.

There, a repurposed twin sized bed served as my workstation, and fire-boiled pots of water were my only means to sanitize my tools.

Thread and dental floss were used for stitches, because medical grade supplies were out of the question.

Even if a trader came by with those luxuries in stock, they cost more than we could afford to spend. Other needs had to be filled first.

It’s an unfortunate truth of life outside the cities. Preventative medicine is almost non-existent, and healing takes a back seat to not starving. Give leaders a choice of putting food in bellies or preparing for an injury, and they’ll pick feeding their people every time.

Survival of the fittest is a real, rabid reality in this world.

And then there are the times that someone is teetering on that line of too far gone. When you could save them—when there’s at least a chance, but leadership doesn’t believe it’s worth the risk. Perfectly good supplies shouldn’t be wasted on a patient who may not recover, after all.

Those are the times they ask you to stop .

The times you’re physically pulled from their side by too-rough hands, kicking and screaming and begging for just a few more minutes. The times you watch their life fade, knowing you could’ve done more if this world wasn’t so cruel.

An office door clicks open to my right, and a gray-skinned female walks in our direction with a scathing glance up and down my body.

Elas’s clothes are enormous on me. The shirt hangs halfway to my knees while the pants are rolled up and knotted just to stay over my hips.

They’re endlessly better than the filthy clothes I was wearing, though, so I try not to let it bother me.

She stares again for a long second before tutting and turning to address Elas. “Officer, welcome. I’m assuming this is the… medic we spoke about?”

Elas’s thick brows bunch, but he doesn’t mention the skeptical annoyance in her tone. “Yes, this is August.”

I nod and give her a smile. “August Beckett. It’s very nice to meet you. ”

Despite her imposing presence, she’s actually quite small.

Barely over five feet and wiry, with that pale gray skin that almost shimmers in the fluorescent overhead lights.

Two horns curl from her forehead to lay flat against her head.

Wispy lavender hair billows out from underneath them, and sharp, almost electric orange eyes assess me.

I clasp my hands behind my back, waiting for her appraisal to finish.

“Not many humans use surnames anymore,” she finally says.

“You’re right. My parents were traditional, I suppose. Stuck in the old ways.”

She nods and claps her hands together impatiently. “My name is Chief Medical Officer Aeliphis, but you may address me as Chief or Ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am,” I mirror, keeping my hands to myself, despite my instinct to reach out and shake hers. Her body language tells me she wouldn’t welcome the touch. Those unusual bright eyes study me, but eventually, she seems satisfied.

“I want to make a few things very clear, Mr. Beckett. I don’t want you here.

” My eyes go wide, but I don’t interrupt.

“The only reason I’ve agreed to give you a shot is because of my respect for Officer Elas.

He claims you have a good attitude, even if he can’t assure me of your ability. You are capable, I presume?”

“I’ve been the primary medic for two large camps, ma’am, and have travelled to neighboring communities to help in cases of emergency.”

“ Rebel camps?” she sneers, tilting her nose up as she arches a frosty brow. “Tell me, Mr. Beckett, how does someone get involved with these groups in the first place? I’ve always wanted to know how the scum find one another.”

I ignore the intentional dig. “My parents lived in the wilds their entire lives. I was born outside the cities, so it was a natural way of life for me.”

“Violence was a natural way of life?” she challenges.

“No, ma’am. My life has been spent healing and helping others, not hurting them.”

Her cheek pits into a large dimple as she purses her lips. “Who trained you?”

“My mother was a medic, so I grew up watching her work. I learned how to clean and close a wound before most children my age could lace their own shoes.”

“Not lacking in modesty, I see,” she sneers, and Elas stiffens beside me.

“Apologies, ma’am, I meant no disrespect. My intention was only to share that I’ve been actively studying and practicing medicine for most of my life. I may not have the formal education that many of your medics do, but I have experience that I hope makes up for it.”

She stares at me long enough that it becomes uncomfortable.

My nerves get the better of me as I shift between my feet, but finally, she breaks the silence.

“You will arrive every morning at 0700 sharp, dressed and ready for the day. Until I can assess your strengths for myself, you’ll work underneath someone else.

Don’t expect to be doing anything other than treating headaches and minor wounds for the near future. ”

“That isn’t a problem. I’m happy to help wherever you need me. ”

“What time should I come to collect him?” Elas asks, and Aeliphis shifts her attention to him.

“Whenever I’m done with him.” She hikes a brow in challenge.

“While I appreciate the unpredictable nature of medical work, August is my responsibility. When he isn’t here, he’s under my supervision, which means escorting him back and forth to his quarters.” I stare at Elas, not expecting the diplomatic side of him.

My gaze drops to his chest and the adornments on his uniform.

Three vertical gold bars are stitched into a thick patch.

Aeliphis has two, and the soldiers outside the prison had two horizontal stripes.

Elas and I have never discussed his rank or how it progresses, but everyone we’ve interacted with has submitted to him without question.

I suppose someone of his standing has to be more than just muscle.

“With all due respect, Officer,” Chief Aeliphis drawls, “I cannot run an operation based on your expectations.”

Elas’s brows lift and his head tilts up ever so slightly, and the peacemaker deep inside me squirms uncomfortably at the conflict. “I can be flexible—”

“Hush, August,” Elas says, at the exact time Aeliphis barks, “Silence, Mr. Beckett.”

Right, then.

I rock back on my heels as Elas finally pushes a long sigh from his nose. “If you give me a time to expect him most days, I’ll work around the instances when you need to keep him later.”

A momentary flash of surprise lights her eyes, like she expected more of a fight, but she quickly covers it with a terse nod. “That is acceptable. You can fetch him at 1600 and we’ll see where our workload is for the day.”

“I can work with that.”

She nods, giving another disappointed glance over my body. “I’ll take over from here. We’ll get Mr. Beckett some proper attire and show him the ropes. Collect him at the usual time. We may as well start on our schedule now.”

Elas turns to me, surprising me with the concern in his eyes. “Remember what I told you. Don’t let them take advantage of you.”

I give him a genuine smile even as Aeliphis scoffs beside me. “I won’t. Thank you, Elas. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, his curtain of braids falling in front of his shoulders with the motion. “Behave, human.”

“Always,” I tease, and he chuffs a quiet laugh as he walks out the door. Silence hangs thick between us as I force myself not to squirm again. After the world’s longest stretch, she sighs and uncrosses her arms.

“He just does whatever he wants, doesn’t he? He’s a fucking wrecking ball.” I choke on a surprised laugh as she turns and waves for me to follow. “Come on, then. Let’s get you something that fits.”

She leads me through the first hallway, pointing at doorways as we walk.

There’s a break room where lunch is provided, and I almost drool when I learn there’s a coffee pot inside.

Caffeine has been nothing more than a fantasy most of my life.

I could count on two hands the number of times I’ve had access to it .

We continue down the hall, where there are a few different supply closets and offices under lock and key.

At the end of the wing is an employee locker room with a row of curtained shower stalls.

Everything is stark and sterile, like the hospitals that still stand within the cities.

I’ve never been inside one, but written history forms a picture of what they look like, and the scene before me is a perfect match.

White, glossy tiles cover the walls, and the polished concrete floors continue everywhere I look.

Fluorescent lights hum overhead, their harsh glare bleaching the already drab building.

Aside from the light honey brown of the wooden doors, everything falls in the spectrum of black and white, like all the color was washed away along with any happiness.

A living grayscale.

I mean, would it kill them to throw some art up on the walls?

“Have you been given any clothes?” Chief Aeliphis asks, pulling me out of my head.

“No, ma’am. Elas let me borrow these while my others are cleaned, but I’m afraid those might be destined for the incinerator. My stay in the cells wasn’t kind to my clothes.”

“You should avoid mentioning that you’re a prisoner to the others,” she warns, a tone to her voice that leaves little room for argument.

I argue anyway, in my own passive way.

“ Was a prisoner,” I correct, and she whirls to face me faster than I can track.