Chapter 85. Let Me Help

Travis Turner casually leaned against the edge of the cluttered desk, the polished wood cool beneath his palm. A stack of medical reports lay fanned out before him, their crisp pages stark against the darker surface. His piercing blue eyes moved methodically from line to line, absorbing every word, every number, every timestamp. With each page he turned, the furrow in his brow deepened, carving a permanent crease that spoke of unease rather than concentration alone.

The office around him was quiet, insulated from the chaos of the city by floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the skyline like a living mural. Far below, traffic crawled through streets bathed in afternoon light, the distant hum of engines and sirens softened into a dull, almost soothing murmur. Inside, however, the stillness felt heavy, charged with something unresolved. The only sounds were the faint rustle of paper and the soft tick of an expensive wall clock