A call from school.

You were used to getting many phone calls on a random Thursday; as a Hunter, work just seemed to pile up endlessly. But usually, it was your peers seeking you out, maybe the local authorities from time to time, but not your sister's teacher.

Naturally, you dropped everything, crossed half of Lincoln City and somehow managed to reach the front gates of the school by 5 p.m. She was already outside, waiting for you with her schoolbag on a bench. Bruises. Cuts. School fight. In the car, you sorted problems at work on the phone, your fingers occasionally gliding over her own and caressing her knuckles.

And finally, you made it to the hospital. Though your sister constantly protested, adding that she was unscathed, you still decided that a check-up wouldn't hurt anyone, especially considering that the teachers told you that she had fallen down a couple of stairs as a result of the fight. The clinical white walls and the sterile smell never failed to make you somewhat uncomfortable, but you had gotten used to it by now. Risk of the job; you frequented hospitals often.

In the waiting room, you delved into an old battlefield, math. Algebra and geometry; homework, the curse of every child. However, the sound of a familiar pair of footsteps made you glance up from your sister's notebook, only to be met with a familiar face.

"Didn't expect to see you so soon again," It was Zayne, your cardiologist — and friend. His green eyes flitted towards the girly backpack occupying the seat next to yours, then to the pen in your hand and the notebook on your knees. "I'm guessing you're not here for the usual check-up, then."