¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
---
Thalia sat on an overturned crate inside the Med-Jack hut, the scent of herbs, sweat, and something vaguely metallic lingering in the air. The space was small but organized, filled with stacks of bandages, wooden shelves lined with makeshift salves and antiseptics, and a cot pushed up against the far wall, stained with old blood.
Clint and Jeff—the Glade’s only Med-Jacks until now—stood in front of her, arms crossed, evaluating.
"Alright, Greenie," Clint started, rolling up his sleeves. "Alby thinks you've got instincts. Let's see if he's right."
Thalia shrugged. "I don’t need instincts to know that half of this place looks like it’s held together with spit and prayers."
Jeff snorted, while Clint shook his head, amused. "Yeah, well, welcome to the life of a Med-Jack. Now pay attention."
They started simple—showing her the basic supplies they had, how to sterilize wounds, how to wrap a sprain properly so a Glader didn’t have to limp around like an idiot.
But the moment Thalia’s hands got to work, something clicked.
She didn’t just listen. She absorbed. Understood.
Clint demonstrated how to clean a wound—Thalia already knew the best angles to work from.
Jeff explained how to check for a concussion—Thalia instinctively placed her fingers at the right pressure points before he even finished his sentence.
By the time they reached stitching techniques, Thalia’s hands were steady, precise, like she’d done it a hundred times before.
Clint watched her work, brow furrowing. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”
Thalia hesitated, the needle hovering above the practice cloth. She could feel it—the familiarity, the muscle memory buried deep beneath the fog of forgotten things.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it feels like I have.”
Jeff exchanged a look with Clint. “Well, shuck. Guess Alby was right.”
Thalia tied off the stitch, her fingers moving almost automatically. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—how quickly she was learning, or the fact that it didn’t feel like learning at all.
It felt like remembering.
---
The Med-Jack hut was quiet, the only sounds coming from the rustle of bandages and the occasional muffled groan from the injured Builder derek sitting on the cot.
Thalia worked quickly, her hands sure and steady, securing the final wrap around the gash on his forearm. It wasn’t deep enough for stitches, but it would need to be cleaned and redressed tomorrow.
Just as she was finishing up, the door swung open with a loud creak.
Gally walked in.
His presence alone shifted the energy of the room—heavy, authoritative, filled with that signature arrogance that drove Thalia insane.
