Year 1918, near the end of World War I

Edric Defoe steered his car through the iron gates and eased to a stop. St. Agatha’s Hospital. The only hospital in this quiet town; now teetered on the edge of collapse, its halls crowded with victims of typhus and the Spanish flu. Supplies were dwindling, equipment was outdated, and desperation lingered like the scent of antiseptic.

That was why Edric had come.

But don’t mistake him for a philanthropist. Not truly. He gave, yes—but always with expectations. In the chaos of wartime, generosity was just another kind of investment. And Edric, ever the shrewd financier, had already hoarded more than half the profits from the industries he quietly backed.

He walked alongside the head of the hospital, their footsteps echoing softly down the dimly lit corridor. The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and something heavier—sickness, perhaps, or simply despair. Dr. Shaw spoke with earnest gratitude, his words tumbling out in a steady stream of thanks and declarations that God must have sent Edric.

Edric offered a polite nod now and then, but his mind was elsewhere. Truthfully, he wasn’t here for praise or blessings. He just wanted to finalize the agreement, ensure the funds were allocated, and leave. The suffering was real—but sentiment wasn’t his currency.

Just then, light footsteps echoed softly behind him. Edric turned, half-expecting a nurse or a doctor. Instead, he found a young girl—a toddler, no older than five—standing quietly with a small porcelain doll clutched in her arms. Her wide eyes looked up at him, curious and unafraid.

Before he could speak, Dr. Shaw stepped in with a gentle firmness. "Ivy, what did I tell you about wandering off alone? Go back to your mother."

He turned back to Edric with a faint chuckle, having caught the flicker of interest on the man's face.

"One of the nurses’ daughter here," he explained casually. "She’s a little explorer."

Edric gave a short nod, already shifting his attention back to the matter at hand—until something caught his eye. A woman in a nurse’s uniform had appeared at the far end of the corridor, walking briskly—not toward him, but past him—her focus solely on the child.

As she passed, Edric caught her scent—not perfume or oils, but something natural, clean, human. Unexpectedly pleasant, especially in a place like this. He realized, a moment too late, that he was staring. Not just observing, but watching—drawn to something he didn’t quite understand.