She smiled through the haze of her premed, and looked softly haloed with her jet hair against the pillow framing her pale, Romanesque face. There was no light, no shadow, and her features seemed almost erased—and Mr. Azziz was considering that her appearance seemed far too surreal for someone who had been fighting a treacherous disease and was now on the point of life-changing surgery.

“I can manage it,” she spoke with surprising strength, “being a guest of yours and Allah’s for a few hours.”

But the surgeon recognized a glimmer of fear behind the outward confidence. “We are going to go somewhere magical together, all of us now.” He looked at Lucy as though she were a highly intelligent child. “Dr. Stafford, I am very sorry to say, can’t be with us for the present. It seems to be his day off, and he is nowhere to be found, or perhaps he has not yet come back from his trip—otherwise, I know it was his intention to come in and support you, and he would want to do so. But I have checked the tissue matches myself this time; and we additionally have Dr. Lovell just for today. You will have Dr. Stafford back the day after tomorrow at the latest—and you won’t know a great deal about it before then.”

Lucy felt thoroughly flattened at this news. She had so much respect for Dr. Stafford, and she had come to the realization this week that she had grown to rely on him being somewhere around her. He was the gentlest soul she’d ever met; and she would rather not make such a journey into the dark unknown without his particular lightness of being there in the room. But her thin veil of energy was mistaken for the effects of medication by everyone except Mr. Azziz, whom, like Alex Stafford, no subtlety escaped. He smiled and patted her thin hand.

Jane Cook thought him amazing as he almost imperceptibly assuaged any sudden doubts about the operation Lucy might have harbored. His seemingly serene bearing gave a level of reassurance to everyone, staff and patients alike. It made them believe that in his hands nothing could go wrong, in spite of the dire warning that had to be given to each patient before they signed up. Amel, more than any other surgeon Jane had worked with, was special.

She’d call Sarah after tea. Her dad had taken her to the park this afternoon; it looked lovely outside in the late afternoon, and all the rain from the past week had cleared away. She picked up the pile of files from her desk, and headed for the wards.