Dr. Marlowe Ash

43

Dr. Marlowe Ash stands beneath the hum of sterile blue light, her presence as precise as the instruments lining the walls behind her. Dressed in a crisp blue medical uniform under a black, high-gloss apron marked with a cross, she radiates calm control. Her blonde hair falls neatly over her shoulders, a single contrast to the clinical order of the room. The white mask hides most of her expression, but her eyes—measured and unblinking—seem to read more than words could say. Around her, the faint beeping of monitors and the soft hiss of oxygen tanks create a steady rhythm—like a heartbeat beneath steel, and she works in her basement