Chapter 2 — The Evaluation
Third Person
The simulation lab buzzed with an undercurrent of anticipation as the residents filed in, their footsteps muffled against the polished floors. The sterile perfection of the Neurosurgery Wing gave way here to the hum of advanced machinery and the glow of monitors that cast stark reflections on the walls. High-tech surgical mannequins lay under the glare of overhead lights on mock operating tables, each station meticulously prepped with an array of gleaming instruments. The sharp antiseptic tang in the air mingled with the faint hum of machinery, amplifying the tension.
Mariah Harper’s hazel eyes swept the room, her gaze lingering briefly on the precision of the tools at each station. This was the proving ground, the battlefield where the residents’ skill and resolve would be laid bare. She adjusted her grip on the strap of her bag, the familiar weight of her engraved scalpel inside grounding her. The memory of Dr. Patel’s voice echoed in her mind: *Precision is everything.*
At the front of the room, Dr. Harrison stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the chain of his pocket watch gleaming faintly against his lab coat. His sharp gray eyes roved over the group, dissecting each resident with the calm precision of a surgeon wielding a scalpel. Mariah straightened instinctively, her spine rigid under his gaze.
“This morning,” Dr. Harrison began, his voice steady and deliberate, “you will each perform a hemicraniectomy on a simulation model. This evaluation is not simply a test of your technical knowledge—it is a test of your composure, your precision, and your ability to adapt under pressure. The results will inform the opportunities you are granted in the coming months, so I suggest you proceed with the gravity this task demands.” His words hung in the air like a weight, pressing down on the residents.
Mariah’s chest tightened. She knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just an evaluation—it was a gateway to first-choice surgeries, mentorships, and the professional respect she craved. She locked her jaw, channeling the flicker of unease in her chest into focus.
Dr. Harrison’s gaze flicked briefly to Brad, who lounged at the back of the group with his arms crossed, his sandy blond hair as disheveled as ever. His posture was maddeningly casual, but his piercing blue eyes gleamed with quiet confidence. “While precision is paramount,” Dr. Harrison continued, “creative problem-solving will also be taken into account.”
Mariah’s jaw tightened further. Her gaze darted toward Brad, whose faint smirk deepened just enough to send her pulse skittering. That comment had been meant for him; she was sure of it. Typical. She forced herself to look away, her breathing steadying as she focused on the task ahead. *Control. Precision. Focus.*
“You will have thirty minutes,” Dr. Harrison concluded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Begin.”
The residents dispersed, each moving to their designated station. Mariah approached hers with deliberate steps, slipping on her gloves with practiced ease. Her fingers brushed the handle of her scalpel as she set her bag aside, the engraved initials “M.H.” catching the light momentarily. She paused, letting the smooth, familiar weight in her hand settle her nerves before she picked up the surgical drill. Her grip was firm, steady, as she exhaled slowly.
At the station beside her, Brad was already moving. From the corner of her eye, Mariah caught glimpses of his hands—confident, fluid, maddeningly relaxed. Her teeth clenched. His movements were almost lazy, yet there was an efficiency to them that pricked at her nerves. She forced herself to turn away. *This isn’t about him.*
The drill whirred to life in her hands, the faint vibration grounding her focus. The synthetic “skin” of the mannequin parted cleanly as she made her first incision, every motion deliberate and precise. Her world narrowed to the faint hum of the drill and the steady rhythm of her breathing. One step at a time, she retracted the scalp, exposing the cranium. Her movements were flawless, the product of years of practice and discipline.
Around her, the sounds of the lab faded into the background—a faint chorus of whispered instructions, the hum of equipment, and the occasional sharp intake of breath from another station. For those thirty minutes, there was nothing but the task before her. The synthetic cranium lifted smoothly under her deft fingers, revealing the artificial brain beneath. Each step was executed with meticulous care, every action deliberate.
A low chuckle broke her concentration. Mariah’s grip on her tool tightened as her head snapped up, her irritation flaring. Brad. His voice carried over the quiet hum of the lab, smooth and confident as he exchanged an easy quip with one of the attending observers.
“Unbelievable,” Mariah muttered under her breath, her lips pressing into a thin line. She forced her attention back to her work, though her movements grew sharper, her frustration simmering under her calm exterior. *Let him charm his way through this. My results will speak for themselves.*
“Time’s up,” Dr. Harrison’s voice cut through the room, sharp and precise. Mariah stepped back from her station, peeling off her gloves with steady hands. Her heart pounded faintly beneath her calm exterior, but her expression remained neutral. She resisted the urge to glance toward Brad’s mannequin, focusing instead on her own work.
Dr. Harrison began his rounds, pausing at each station with the same measured scrutiny. The room was silent save for the faint rustle of his lab coat and the soft hum of the monitors. When he reached Mariah’s station, she stood perfectly still, her hands clasped behind her back, her face a mask of professionalism.
“Meticulous,” he remarked after a long pause, his tone as precise as the evaluation itself. “Impeccable technique. No errors.”
A quiet swell of satisfaction rose in Mariah’s chest, but she kept her expression composed, giving only a curt nod. Dr. Harrison lingered a moment longer before moving on.
When he stopped at Brad’s station, Mariah’s pulse quickened despite herself. She tilted her head slightly, angling her ear toward the conversation.
“An unconventional approach, Gallow,” Dr. Harrison remarked, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. “Your incision deviates from the standard placement. Explain.”
Brad shrugged one shoulder, his faint smile never wavering. “Sometimes the fastest route isn’t the straightest, Dr. Harrison.”
Dr. Harrison quirked an eyebrow, though he made no further comment. He stepped back, leaving Mariah to seethe silently at Brad’s words. *Fast isn’t better.* She wanted to argue, but she bit her tongue. This wasn’t the time—or the place.
After the evaluations concluded, the residents were dismissed with instructions to review their performance feedback individually. Mariah gathered her belongings quickly, her movements brisk as she stepped into the corridor. The simmering tension beneath her calm exterior threatened to boil over, but she forced it down with sheer will.
“Harper, wait up.”
Mariah’s shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice. She didn’t slow her pace. “What do you want, Gallow?”
Brad’s long strides brought him easily alongside her. “Just wanted to say congrats. Pretty sure you nailed it.”
“Your opinion isn’t necessary,” she replied, her tone clipped.
He chuckled softly. “Come on, don’t be like that. You crushed it. Of course you did.”
Mariah stopped abruptly, whirling to face him. “What’s your point?”
His blue eyes met hers, his grin faint but persistent. “No point, really. Just wondering how long you’re going to pretend you’re not annoyed.”
Her hazel eyes narrowed. “And what exactly would I be annoyed about?”
Brad tilted his head, studying her with a look that was too perceptive for her comfort. His confident façade flickered, just for a moment, his voice dropping slightly. “You heard Dr. Harrison. Creativity counts too. Different doesn’t mean wrong, Harper. You might be surprised.”
Mariah’s lips twitched, her frustration bubbling up again. “We’ll see.”
Brad’s grin returned, faint but insistent. “We will.” He stepped back, leaving her standing alone in the corridor.
Mariah exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing the engraved scalpel in her bag. *Precision. Focus. Control.* Those were her weapons. And she would wield them relentlessly until there was no doubt who belonged at the top.
Brad Gallow could play his games all he wanted. Mariah Harper wasn’t here to lose.