“Twenty-five.” She prods my wound and I hear the scrape of metal on bone.
“Pretty young for a doctor.”
“I started grad school when I was seventeen.”
“How’d you get into college so young?”
“Tutors.” She drops another bloody bullet on the counter. “It’s out.”
“Still…” I do the math in my head. “Four years for a bachelor’s degree—”
“Two actually. I tested out of a bunch of undergrad classes. Advanced track pre-med. Then I switched to genetics and got a research internship.”
I whistle. “So you’re a genius.”
She swabs the area with more alcohol and rips open a bandage. “No. Just driven. And I don’t get out much.” She strips off her gloves and studies me as I’ve been studying her.
“Skip the bandage. I think I’ll take a shower.” Blood is still crusted down my side and around the waistban
