Vital Signs

Clara sat in the pew for a long time.

She listened to the silence.

She looked down at the handkerchief in her lap. It was stained with mascara and rain. She folded it carefully, lining up the corners.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her ID badge.

*Clara Vance, Medical Student.*

The plastic was wet. She wiped it on her scrub pants.

She thought about Mr. Henderson. She thought about Sarah Jenkins. She thought about the notebook in Arthur’s pocket, heavy with forty-two names.

*Hardness is brittle.*

She wasn't hard. She was shaking. She was terrified.

But she was also hungry.

Clara stood up. Her legs felt steady.

She clipped the ID badge back onto her collar. It felt heavy, a weight she wasn't sure she could carry forever. But she could carry it for tonight.

She walked to the chapel door and pushed it open. The corridor was bright and smelled of antiseptic. The hospital was humming, a machine that never stopped.

Clara turned right, toward the exit.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle. She stepped out into the night air. Across the street, the neon sign of the *Midnight Grill* buzzed and flickered against the darkness. Through the fogged window, she could see a figure sitting in a booth, reading a menu.

Clara took a breath of the cold, wet air. She shoved her hands into her pockets, her fingers brushing against Arthur’s handkerchief.

She began to walk across the street.