Chapter 6 - The Visitor in White
Martha’s hands moved on pure instinct. Slipping the tiny vial into the deep front pocket of her white housekeeping apron, she smoothed down the fabric just as the door pushed open.
Dr. Adrian Cole walked into the bathroom.
At fifty years old, Dr. Cole was the picture of distinguished medical authority. He was tall, calm, and polished, wearing a perfectly fitted charcoal suit beneath a bright, spotless white lab coat. A leather medical bag was slung over his shoulder.
Behind him stepped Evelyn Delaney, her eyes scanning the room instantly.
"Is everything in order here?" Evelyn asked, her tone sharp as she observed Martha standing near the tub.
"Yes, Miss Delaney," Martha replied smoothly, keeping her head low and her posture relaxed. "I was just finishing setting out the thermal towels for Mr. Rourke."
Dr. Cole stepped closer to the bathtub, offering Maxwell a warm, professional smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good evening, Maxwell. How are the leg spasms tonight? Any discomfort from the muscular atrophy routines we started on Tuesday?"
Maxwell’s face was once again an unreadable stone mask. He leaned back against the headrest of the tub, his dark wavy hair resting against the wet marble.
"Same as always, Adrian," Maxwell said, his voice deep, gravelly, and entirely relaxed. "Dead weight from the chest down."
Martha felt a cold chill run down her spine. The lie was delivered so effortlessly, so completely, that if she hadn't seen his toes pull away from the ice-cold water three minutes ago, she would have believed him without a second thought.
Dr. Cole nodded sympathetically, setting his leather bag down on the marble counter—right next to the cabinet where the hidden vial had been resting moments before.
"We'll get you dried off and begin the evening nerve stimulation injections shortly," Dr. Cole said softly, reaching into his bag. "Evelyn, please ensure the floor is clear."
"Of course," Evelyn said, turning her icy gaze to Martha. "Martha, you are dismissed. Go assist the kitchen staff with the lower dining hall."
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"Yes, Miss Delaney," Martha said softly.
She bowed her head slightly and walked toward the exit. As she passed Maxwell, her eyes briefly met his. He didn't move, but the intensity in his blue-gray gaze sent an unmistakable message: Keep your mouth shut.
