As soon as Enid and the nurse left the infirmary, Thing crawled out of Wednesday’s backpack, landed lightly on the bed, and signed.
What are you doing?
Without answering, Wednesday walked over to the bed and drew the privacy curtain closed.
Her gaze settled on the stainless-steel tray beside Oliver’s bed.
A scalpel.
She picked it up and inspected the edge.
“I’ve examined corpses with more visible trauma,” she said matter-of-factly.
“A stone gargoyle fell directly onto his head from the second floor. His skull should have fractured.” She looked down at Oliver’s unconscious form.
“Yet there isn’t so much as a laceration.”
Wednesday took his hand and turned it over, studying the skin with quiet fascination.
“No Outcast I’ve studied possesses that level of physical resilience.”
Thing signed immediately.
He’s a patient.
“I noticed.”
Then put the scalpel down.
Wednesday glanced at Thing without the slightest change in expression.
“I’m conducting an examination.”
Thing jabbed a finger toward Oliver, then mimed someone waking up.
He’s alive.
And he didn’t consent.
Wednesday regarded Thing for a moment before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod.
“…A valid objection.”
Then, without another word, she drew the scalpel lightly across Oliver’s palm.
Thing buried his face in his fingers and signed furiously.
I told you not to do that!
“Stop being dramatic. Just look.”
She lifted the scalpel.
The edge of the blade had curled over.
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed.
“…Interesting.”
The scalpel hadn’t left so much as a scratch on Oliver’s skin.
Instead, the surgical steel had bent against it.
That’s…
not normal.
“No,” Wednesday agreed, her curiosity only deepening.
“It most certainly isn’t.”
Wednesday placed the bent scalpel back on the tray before climbing onto the bed and sitting on Oliver’s stomach.
Thing stared at her in disbelief.
What are you doing?
Without answering, Wednesday leaned forward and pressed her ear against his chest.
The infirmary fell silent.
She listened for several seconds before her eyes narrowed slightly.
Thing tapped the bed.
Well?
Wednesday didn’t answer immediately.
She listened again, making sure she wasn’t imagining it.
Then she sat up.
“A normal heart has a two-beat rhythm,” she said.
“Lub-dub.”
Thing nodded.
“His doesn’t.” She rested her ear against his chest once more.
“There’s a third beat.”
Thing frowned.
You’re sure?
“I’ve spent enough time around cadavers to recognize the sound of a heart. I’m not mistaken.” She straightened slightly.
“Either his anatomy is unlike anything I’ve encountered… or I’ve just found a mystery worth solving.”
The curtain was pulled aside.
Principal Weems stepped into the infirmary, having come to check on Oliver personally after hearing a student had been injured.
She stopped the moment she saw the scene before her.
Wednesday was sitting on Oliver’s stomach, leaning over him.
Weems stared for a second, clearly unsure what conclusion she was supposed to draw.
“I’m hardly opposed to youthful romance, Miss Addams, but you should be a little more mindful of the time and place.”
Wednesday looked at her with complete indifference.
“If your first conclusion upon seeing two teenagers in close proximity is teenage hormones, that reveals considerably more about your thought process than mine.”
Weems folded her arms, amusement giving way to curiosity.
“Then perhaps you’d care to explain why you were in that position.”
Wednesday offered no answer.
She simply stepped off Oliver, straightened her blazer, and adjusted one of her cuffs with practiced precision.
“If you’ve come to check on him, he’s alive.”
Weems waited.
When it became clear Wednesday had no intention of elaborating, she let out a quiet sigh.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
Wednesday’s gaze drifted to the cracked ceiling above the bed.
“I’d be considerably more concerned about the academy than my proximity to an unconscious student.”
Weems followed her line of sight.
“A gargoyle detached from the roof,” Wednesday continued.
“It fell several stories and struck a student in broad daylight. I would classify that as a structural failure rather than a disciplinary issue.”
“And yet,” Weems replied, “that still doesn’t explain what you were doing.”
“It wasn’t relevant.”
“It became relevant the moment I walked in.”
Wednesday looked back at her.
“I disagree.”
For a few seconds the two simply stared at one another.
Weems finally pinched the bridge of her nose.
“So you’re refusing to answer?”
“I’ve found explanations are rarely effective once someone has settled on their own version of events.”
A faint smile crossed Weems’ face.
“You always did have a talent for answering questions without actually answering them.”
“It’s an efficient way of ending unproductive conversations.”
Weems glanced at Oliver, still unconscious but otherwise unharmed.
“Very well. I’ll have the roof inspected immediately. If a gargoyle came loose once, I won’t risk it happening again.”
“A sensible decision,” Wednesday said.
“Preferably before the academy acquires a reputation for flattening its own students.”