His Final Choice
I stood outside his hospital room, the gift I’d carefully wrapped clutched in my hands, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. I was about to push the door open when the low rumble of men’s voices spilled into the hallway.
“We all wrote you off, man. Every last one of us,” a familiar voice, one of his crew, was saying. “But not Summer. That girl never left this room. Three years, Jack. She was convinced you’d wake up.”
Another voice chimed in, rougher. “About damn time you two made it official. The wedding’s gonna be epic!”
A beat of silence hung in the air, thick and heavy. Then, his voice—Jackson Wilder’s voice. The one I’d replayed in my memory a thousand times. It was rougher than I remembered, raspy from disuse.
“Don’t talk crazy,” he said. “She’s always been like a sister to me.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. The air in the room must have frozen, too, because the boisterous energy vanished, replaced by a stunned silence. Then, a shocked question.
“A sister? You’re not still hung up on Eliza Vance, are you?”
“Jack, you took a spray of bullets protecting her. The second you were down, she was on the first flight back to the States. You can’t still be thinking about that heartless bitch…”
Suddenly, the tone shifted. “Shut up,” Jack snapped, his voice a blade. The other man fell silent. “What’s between me and Eliza,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “is nobody else’s business.”
My eyelashes fluttered, a pathetic shield against the sting behind my eyes. The gift felt impossibly heavy now.
I was sixteen when I met him; he was twenty-two. Jackson Wilder was the leader of a private contracting unit operating out of some dusty, forgotten corner of the world. He was also the undefeated king of an underground fighting circuit—a place they called the Cage.
And me? I was just a kid, an orphan left behind by my family in the chaos of a civil war, fighting for scraps.
The day we met, he was standing on a rooftop, silhouetted against a bruised sky. His features were sharp, his expression distant. He looked like a storm gathering on the horizon. Down below, I was in that very Cage, clutching a stale piece of bread, getting my face beaten to a pulp for someone’s entertainment. I was too broken to even scream.
Then, a deep voice cut through the roar of the crowd. “Let her go. I’ll take her place.”
The place erupted. Jack Wilder hadn’t stepped into the Cage for years. And now, he was doing it for a street rat like me.
After he’d finished, quickly and brutally, I stumbled over to him, my face flushed with shame and gratitude. He just gave me a cold, dismissive glance.
From that day on, I became his shadow. I followed him everywhere, slowly becoming a part of the rough-and-tumble family of his unit. I knew his moment of pity for me was born from a fleeting resemblance—the curve of my cheek, he once mentioned, looked like Eliza Vance’s at sixteen. I also knew he and Eliza were circling each other, caught in an orbit of unspoken feelings. So, I played my part. The little sister. The mascot.
Then came the ambush, three years ago. He’d thrown himself in front of Eliza, a human shield. By the time our team got to him, he was lying in a pool of his own blood, riddled with bullets.
Eliza had vanished. We later found out the truth: she was the daughter of some East Coast dynasty, a rich girl playing dress-up as a field medic for a thrill. In the three years Jack lay in a coma, she never called, never visited. But I never left. I was there to turn him, to clean him, to massage his atrophied muscles. I talked to him for hours, telling him stories, hoping my voice could be a lifeline to pull him back from the darkness.
I had so many stupid, girlish fantasies. That he’d wake up, moved by my devotion, and ask me to marry him. That I’d finish my medical certifications and become his personal doctor, tending to his scars.
But now, standing outside this door, the truth was brutally clear. I could never compete with a ghost. Some people are only meant to walk with you for a short while, and expecting more is a fool’s errand.
Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I schooled my features into a neutral mask and pushed open the door.
Every head in the room swiveled towards me. The group of burly, hardened men suddenly looked as uncomfortable as teenagers caught gossiping.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, forcing a bright smile, pretending I’d just arrived. I walked straight to his bed and held out the gift. “Welcome back, Jack.”
He took it without looking at it, placing it on the bedside table. Just then, the door swung open again.
It was Eliza Vance.
She was perfect, of course. Not a hair out of place. She looked at him with wide, apologetic eyes.
“Jack,” she breathed. “I heard you were awake. I… I came to apologize.”
The atmosphere in the room turned to ice. One of the guys, a cynic named Marcus, raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Haven’t heard a peep from you in three years, and now you show up with an apology? What’s the angle, princess?”
A blush crept up Eliza’s neck. She bit her lip, gave a deep, formal bow, and placed her own elegantly wrapped gift on the table before turning to leave.
But Jack stopped her. He picked up her gift, a heavy, rectangular box. He opened it.
“A Colt Walker,” he said, his voice low with something I couldn’t decipher. He tested its weight in his hand. “Only a hundred of these in the world. How’d you get it?”
The men stared, jaws slack. He was propped up against the pillows, the sharp angles of his face half-hidden in shadow, making his expression unreadable.
Eliza froze, then turned back, a relieved smile touching her lips. “I’ve been tracking down a seller for years. I finally got a lead a few months ago.”
“Hm,” Jack grunted. He paused. “You can go now.”
Not long after she left, the sky opened up. A torrential summer downpour hammered against the hospital windows. Suddenly, Jack threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
“What’s up, Jack?”
“It’s stuffy in here. Going for a smoke.”
One of the guys, already drunk on cheap celebratory whiskey, slurred, “A smoke? But… didn’t you quit for Summer?”
Jack was already gone. He didn’t hear it. He moved so fast he forgot his keys, forgot an umbrella.
I hesitated for a second, then grabbed my coat and an umbrella from the stand. He just woke up from a coma; the last thing he needed was to catch a fever in the rain.
But when I got outside, the entrance was empty. There was no sign of him. Cursing, I plunged into the downpour, the umbrella instantly threatening to turn inside out against the wind.
Within seconds, I was soaked. I pulled out my phone for the third time and dialed his number. This time, I heard it. A faint ringing, coming from a darkened supply warehouse behind the main building. The door was slightly ajar. I peered through the crack, and my world tilted on its axis.
He had Eliza pinned against the wall. His lips were on hers, not in a gentle kiss, but in a raw, desperate hunger I had never seen from him. It was a claiming.
“Jack!” Eliza gasped, pushing against his chest. “Your phone.”
He just grabbed her wrist, his voice a gravelly rasp. “Doesn’t matter.”
He didn’t even bother to decline the call. He just crushed his mouth to hers again.
In that moment, an image flared in my mind: Jack, three years ago, bleeding out on the battlefield, whispering her name with what we all thought was his last breath.
I had thought her betrayal, her abandonment, would finally make him see me. How naive. He would have died for her. What was a simple forgiveness compared to that?
I should have known. I should have woken up a long time ago.
Suddenly, my vision went black. A large, cool hand had covered my eyes from behind.
It was Julian Thorne. The quiet, enigmatic owner of the entire contracting firm. The man behind the man.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” His voice was calm, refined, a stark contrast to the chaos in my heart.
“Yeah, it hurts,” I heard myself say, my own voice eerily steady. “But the day he pulled me out of the Cage, he told me something.”
“*Make the right choice, not the easy one.*”
“So I have to watch,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash. “I need to watch. I need this image burned into my mind, to cauterize the wound. So when I walk away this time… I won’t look back.”
My heart felt like it was tearing in two. My eyes burned, and my legs threatened to give out.
But this was the only way. The only way to finally carve the name ‘Jackson Wilder’ out of my soul and leave it behind for good.
Inside the warehouse, they finally broke apart. Jack cupped Eliza’s chin, his thumb brushing over her lips. “You left,” he murmured. “Why come back now and stir things up?”
Tears instantly welled in Eliza’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I know I shouldn’t have… but it was the only way to keep you safe. My parents… you know they disapproved. If I hadn’t left, they would have come after you again.”
“For three years, they shipped me off to Europe. They monitored my phone, my emails. Every single day, I wondered if you were okay…”
“And you’re not afraid of them now?” Jack asked, his voice low, his gaze searching her face.
“No.” Eliza held up her right hand, pushing back the sleeve of her designer coat to reveal a pale, ugly scar across the inside of her wrist. “I bought my freedom with this… Jack, can you give me another chance? I know you have Summer now, but without you… I can’t live. I truly can’t.”
Jack stood frozen, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. Finally, with a sigh that sounded like a surrender, he pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t cry,” he said softly. “Summer is just my sister. I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”
…
Julian led me to his car. The windows were streaked with rain, blurring the world outside into a smear of neon and darkness. I reached out to wipe the glass, rubbing at it for a long moment before I realized the blur wasn’t on the window. It was in my eyes.
“Where to?” Julian asked again.
I lowered my hand, forcing a brittle smile. “If it’s not too much trouble… could you take me to the immigration office?”
The drive was silent. He didn’t ask any questions. He just reached into the back and tossed a dry jacket over my shivering shoulders. For the first time, I was grateful for Julian Thorne’s reputation. They said the only thing he cared about was money. He was emotionally detached from everything and everyone. It made this unbearable moment slightly less so.
“My visa should be approved in two weeks. Then I’m gone,” I said, carefully folding the application receipt. “I hope you won’t say anything to Jack. I’ll… I’ll tell him myself.”
Later that night, the lights in Jack’s villa were dark. For the past three years, I’d lived there to be closer to the private care facility. The house was his—all cold lines, black and white and gray. But I had left my mark on it. A pair of soft pink slippers by the door. A cartoonish, hand-drawn “Rehab Progress” chart on the fridge. A brightly colored pillow on the severe leather sofa.
My fingerprints were everywhere. Looking at them now, I saw how they never really belonged.
I started packing, moving through the silent house like a ghost. I put everything into a cardboard box until I reached for a small, framed specimen on my nightstand: a pressed lily-of-the-valley.
I remembered the day he gave it to me. It was Christmas, two years into his coma. The nurses had put up a tree, and I’d felt a wave of loneliness. One of his crewmates, trying to cheer me up, had brought me the single, delicate stem. “From Jack,” he’d lied. “He said every other girl has flowers, you should too.”
It was my favorite flower.
I’d been so desperate to preserve that one, small piece of him—that one lie—that I’d barely let myself look at it before pressing it to keep forever.
Now, I finally took the time. The petals were yellowed and brittle. When I touched one, it disintegrated into dust on my fingertip.
Just like us. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hold on.
I swept the dust into the trash, sealed the box, and hauled it out to the dumpster. Then, for the first time in three years, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, it was Jack’s voice that woke me.
He was standing over me in black combat fatigues, a mercury thermometer held between his long, lean fingers. His tone was sharp. “You have a fever and you didn’t notice?”
Only then did I realize my throat felt like I’d swallowed razor blades. I coughed, the sound raw. “How high?”
“100.2.”
“Can you grab me the…” I started to say, but stopped. Eliza was walking into the room, holding a glass of water and a few pills.
“I brought you some medicine,” she said with a gentle, cloying smile. “Take this and get some rest.”
I stared at the pills in her palm, not moving. “I’m allergic to NSAIDs. Are these…?”
“NSAIDs? No, of course not.”
Something felt wrong, but my head was too fuzzy to figure it out. Eliza’s hand remained suspended in the air, a wounded look creeping onto her face.
“Summer.” Jack’s brow furrowed with that cool, impatient look I was coming to dread. “Take the damn medicine.”
Under his unwavering gaze, I had no choice. I took the pills and swallowed them down with the water.
“Let her rest, Jack,” Eliza cooed, linking her arm through his. “You promised you’d spend the day with me.”
He gave me one last glance before letting her pull him out of the room.
Not long after, I woke up from a feverish dream with the sensation of a thousand ants crawling all over my skin.
Something was very wrong.
I looked down. Angry red welts were erupting across my arms and chest. An allergic reaction.
Leaning against the wall for support, I forced myself to my feet and staggered out of the room. The living room lights were blindingly bright.
Below, in the sunken living room, Jack was kneeling at Eliza’s feet. His large, calloused hand was wrapped around her delicate ankle. “Such a baby,” he murmured, but his touch was impossibly gentle as he massaged her foot.
Eliza giggled. “You spoil me.”
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, merging their two shadows into one.
A sharp, violent pain lanced through my chest. My throat felt like it was closing up, a fish bone lodged deep inside, making it impossible to breathe.
“Jack…” My fingertips were going numb. The world was spinning. “Jack…”
He looked up at the sound of my voice. Seeing my weakened state, his own voice came out harsher than he probably intended. “Go back to your room. What are you doing out here?”
“I…” I tried to ask for help, to tell him what was happening, but only a broken gasp came out.
“Go rest,” he said dismissively, already turning his attention back to Eliza. His eyes softened. “Summer can’t cook tonight. I’ll take you out for dinner.”
Tears blurred my vision. My strength gave out. And as the world went black, I collapsed.
When I woke up, the first thing I saw was a stark white ceiling. It took me a few seconds to remember.
I’d fallen down the stairs.
A bitter memory surfaced. Six years ago, I was kidnapped by one of Jack’s rivals. They’d pulled out my fingernails one by one and broken both my legs, trying to force me to give up his location. I refused. Jack found me just in time, a bloody mess in a warehouse. As he carried me out, he swore, “I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
But now, as I lay dying from anaphylactic shock, he hadn’t even noticed. He was too busy worrying if another woman would miss her dinner.
My left arm was in a cast. I twisted my lips into a humorless smile.
“Summer, are you feeling any better?”
Eliza Vance clicked into the room on a pair of ridiculously high heels. Her voice was laced with concern, but her eyes held a triumphant gleam she didn’t bother to hide. We both knew we weren’t friends having a pleasant chat.
I just turned my head away, silent.
Eliza seemed to take that as her cue. “Oh, are you looking for Jack?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “After he dropped you at the hospital, he was so worried I hadn’t eaten that he drove all the way across town to get me my favorite soup…”
My face paled. I felt the blood drain from it.
“That gave me the perfect chance to come have a little chat with you,” Eliza continued, her smile turning venomous. She leaned in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “That aspirin? I bought it on purpose. I knew you might suffocate from the reaction. But who told you to hang around Jack, refusing to leave? You were annoying me.”
My eyes widened in horror.
She tried to kill me. Simply because she found my presence… annoying.
My hand trembled as I reached for my phone on the nightstand. “Do you have any idea,” I said, my voice cold, “that this is attempted murder?”
Just then, the door opened. Jack walked in, holding a container of soup.
“Summer, what are you talking about?”
Eliza immediately transformed. Her face crumpled, her eyes filling with tears. “Jack, it’s all my fault. I mixed up the medicine. Summer wants to call the police on me…”
Watching her pathetic performance made my stomach turn.
I looked straight at Jack, my expression calm. I repeated, word for word, what Eliza had just confessed to me. I finished by asking, “Tell me, Jack. Should I call the police?”
His expression was cold, impassive. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said.
“You think I’m being dramatic?” My brows knitted together. “I’m not lying. She admitted it herself.”
Jack’s gaze sharpened, turning into a clinical assessment. “Eliza isn’t a doctor. It’s normal for her not to know the difference between different anti-inflammatories. You should have been clearer about your allergy.”
He took a step closer, looming over my hospital bed. His voice dropped, laced with an unmistakable warning. “And another thing, Summer. Remember this. Eliza is not like you. She wasn't raised like a rat in a slum. She is refined and kind. Don’t you dare judge her by the filthy standards you learned there.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, before delivering the final blow.
“You’re not worthy.”
Five years of unwavering devotion, erased by a few crocodile tears.
I looked up at him, my gaze locking with his. I searched his eyes, desperately looking for a flicker of the man I once knew, the man I’d admired for a decade.
There was nothing. Only a cold, guarded suspicion.
So that’s what I was to him. Still the rat from the slum. Scheming, vicious, selfish. Unworthy of even questioning the woman he placed on a pedestal.
An immense, bone-deep weariness washed over me. It felt like even my heart was too tired to beat.
I closed my eyes, offering no further defense. “Just go,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m tired.”
Seeing me back down, he must have thought I’d learned my lesson. His tone softened slightly. “I’ll take Eliza home first. I’ll come see you later tonight.”
The moment the hospital room door clicked shut, I curled into a ball beneath the thin blanket, and the tears I’d been holding back finally fell, silent and hot against the pillow.
It’s useless to try so hard for someone who will never love you back. How did it take me this long to finally understand?
For the next few days, there was no word from Jack.
Surprisingly, it was Julian Thorne who visited. He brought the phone I’d left at the villa.
“Jack’s on a mission in the Zayan Desert. Bad signal,” he said, looking uncharacteristically pleased. The contract must have been a profitable one. “I’ll pick you up when you’re discharged.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can manage.”
Honestly, I was shocked he’d come at all. Julian was a man who lived by the clock, with twenty hours of his day booked with business deals.
After he left, I used one hand to type out an email on my phone to the medical board. My life had been on pause for Jack for five years. It was time to start moving forward again, alone.
Email sent, I mindlessly opened my social media feed. The first post was from Eliza. She was in the Zayan Desert, too.
In the photo, her makeup was flawless, not a speck of dust on her smiling face. She was clearly being well-protected. And sitting beside her, his profile softened in the desert twilight, was Jack. He was handing her a cup.
The caption read: “Two hours of work for the perfect cup of desert pour-over coffee. So worth it.”
I remembered six months ago, telling Jack I’d love to try coffee he made himself. He’d said he didn’t have the time.
It wasn’t that he didn’t have the time. It was that I wasn’t worth his time.
I knew I should stop, but my thumb kept scrolling down, a morbid compulsion. A picture of him driving her to chase a sunset. A selfie of them under a blanket of stars. A photo of him, arm in a sling, stubbornly holding her while he slept.
I scrolled all the way to the bottom of her feed, back to the beginning. And then I started to laugh, a choked, muffled sound that was closer to a sob.
On the day I was discharged, Jack was still gone. But Julian was there, just as he’d promised. The nurses all assumed he was my boyfriend.
One of the younger ones pulled me aside conspiratorially. “He only visited twice in a whole week? Dump him!”
I was about to awkwardly explain when Julian, a twinkle in his eye, cut me off. “It’s not my fault! She says I’m bothering her when I offer to pick her up.”
“Miss Hayes, boyfriends are *meant* to be bothered! Don’t be so polite!” the nurse scolded me, shooting me an exasperated look.
Just as she spoke, a familiar voice echoed from the end of the hallway.
“You have a boyfriend? Who?”
I turned sharply. Jack was standing there, silhouetted against the light. There were streaks of dried blood on his face, and his eyes were as cold as ice, pinned on Julian and me.
He looked directly at Julian, a dark, unreadable smile playing on his lips. “Well, well. Julian Thorne. When did you change your taste in women?”
“Six years ago. You’re behind the times,” Julian replied smoothly, effortlessly taking my luggage from my hand. His tone turned intimate. “Say goodbye to your big brother Jack, Summer.”
I had no idea what game he was playing, but after everything that had happened, all I wanted was to draw a clean, sharp line between myself and Jackson Wilder.
I looked up, my voice steady. “You should get going. Julian will take me home.”
Hearing those words, an inexplicable irritation flared in Jack’s eyes. He strode forward and grabbed my hand. “Why trouble Mr. Thorne with a detour…”
He paused, his grip tightening. “We can just go home together.”
He enunciated the last three words with a heavy, deliberate emphasis, as if telling Julian that he and I were a unit.
That was the exact moment Eliza chose to step out of a car parked at the curb. Her eyes locked onto our joined hands, and her face instantly crumpled. “Jack… you…”
Before she could finish, she clutched her chest, a pained expression on her face. Her skin turned ashen, and she swayed, collapsing toward the pavement.
“Eliza!” Jack’s expression changed in a flash. He flung my hand away and lunged, catching her just before she hit the ground.
Doctors rushed out. One knelt and quickly checked her vitals. He frowned. “Acute cardiac tamponade! She needs surgery, now!”
“Okay, I’ll sign the consent,” Jack said, his voice tight with a panic I’d never heard from him before.
“No…” Eliza whispered, shaking her head weakly. “No…”
Her consciousness was fading, but she kept repeating that one word. Jack’s eyes grew wild, a deep red flush creeping into them.
He gritted his teeth and spun towards me. “Summer! Your specialty is cardiothoracic surgery! Come with me! You have to save her!”
I froze. “I… I don’t have a license.”
Five years ago, I’d graduated from medical school. The day before I was scheduled to receive my license, the call came about Jack. I’d rushed to the forward operating base where he’d been hit. He was already in a coma, his condition critical. The base surgeon was away on a medevac mission. I had no choice. I operated on him myself, without authorization. I saved his life, but for violating protocol, someone reported me. I lost my chance to get my license. I’d appealed multiple times over the years, but it never went anywhere.
“Summer!” Jack’s eyes were bloodshot. His voice trembled. “Right now, you’re the only one who can.”
Eliza’s lips were turning blue, her breathing growing faint. There was no more time.
I bit my lip and stepped forward to examine her. But the moment I got close, Eliza’s body convulsed violently, and she went limp.
“ELIZA!” A raw, primal scream tore from Jack’s throat. He shoved me away with savage force.
Caught off guard, I stumbled backward, the sharp corner of a wall jamming into my ankle. A searing pain shot up my leg. I cried out, losing my balance, but Julian was there, catching me before I could fall.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
I glanced at my already swelling ankle and gritted my teeth. “I’m fine.”
I limped after them to the car.
Ten minutes later, we screeched to a halt at a discreet, underground clinic.
I was already ordering the staff to prep anesthesia when Eliza’s eyes fluttered open. When she saw me in scrubs, her pupils constricted in terror. She remembered what she’d done to me. Using the last of her strength, she gasped, “Don’t let her touch me… She’ll… kill me.”
Her words were like a nail hammered directly into Jack’s wavering heart.
Doubt, desperation, fear, pleading… a storm of emotions warred in his eyes.
Finally, his throat worked, and he spoke, his voice hoarse and raw.
“Summer. Eliza is more important to me than my own life. Five years ago, you saved me. You can save her now too, right?”
He still didn’t trust me. So he was using his life, the debt he thought I owed him, as leverage.
I ignored the sharp sting of pain in my chest, forcing down every emotion roiling inside me.
“I took an oath,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “To practice my profession with conscience and dignity. My patient’s health will be my first consideration, irrespective of their race, religion, nationality, or social standing. I will not permit considerations of personal feelings to intervene between my duty and my patient. As long as she is my patient, I will do everything in my power to save her.”
Jack looked into my eyes, seeing the same unwavering resolve he’d seen five years ago when I’d pulled him back from the brink. His expression flickered. He opened his mouth to say something, but I had already turned away.
“The surgery is about to begin. Please leave.”
“Get me a sterile pack! I need an 18-gauge pericardiocentesis needle and two drainage tubes, stat!”
The heavy door to the operating room swung shut in his face. Through the small glass window, he could see me standing at the table, my movements swift and precise, my expression calm. As if I’d never left.
Three hours later, the lines on the heart monitor finally stabilized.
My back was soaked with cold sweat. The moment I stepped out of the OR, my injured ankle gave out. The full weight of my body, combined with exhaustion, was too much. I crumpled to the floor.
But this time, no one caught me.
Jack rushed right past me, his eyes only for the woman on the gurney. He bent down, pressing a trembling kiss to Eliza’s pale forehead, his voice choked with emotion. “Eliza, don’t you leave me…”
I watched them, my face blank, saying nothing. I just sat there on the cold floor until I regained enough strength to push myself up and limp over to a nearby bench.
The surgery was a success. After the anesthesia wore off, Eliza even had me brought to her bedside to thank me.
“Thank you,” she said. “And… I’m sorry.”
Maybe I was imagining it, but there was a strange, unreadable look in her eyes. Before I could decipher it, the private doctor Jack had hired was shooing me out of the room. It didn’t matter. I could finally get some rest.
Back at the villa, I barely managed to shower before collapsing into bed.
I don’t know how long I slept before I was jolted awake by a violent pounding on the front door.
*An enemy of Jack’s?*
The thought shot through my sleep-addled brain. My hand trembled as I reached under my pillow for the gun Jack kept there. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door open.
It wasn’t what I expected. Several uniformed police officers stood on the doorstep. One of them presented a warrant, his face impassive.
“Summer Hayes, you’re being reported for practicing medicine without a license. Please come with us.”
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