Her gaze catches Emily's, pauses a little, puts a branding – an annoying, nagging factor that it is not customary to talk about out loud; an unnecessary element of decor in the office; a formally donated statuette for the next anniversary of the company.

Of course she was mistaken, Emily keeps telling herself, just mistaken, saying the wrong name, just mixed up, well, it happens to everyone, yes, she repeats, trying to stare at the floor, but sees only her reflection in the lacquer of the black pumps.

– Ah, Dr. Clark! We've got another mystery here," the one who was praising Emily a few minutes ago announces all too happily.

– Send her to the diagnosticians.

– How did you know it was a girl?

– I meant the riddle. – Clark puts a Kraft bag and two cups with R&H logos on the table. – It's 8:00 in the morning, Donald. What's with the gathering in my office?

Emily, standing slightly behind the woman, steps away from the desk as inconspicuously as possible; bumping into the owner of the office, her supervisor, and apparently a colleague is in no way part of her plans for the day.

Neuroscience, in fact, is.

Standing behind a small cabinet – very, very flat, Rebecca would be sure to let off some unfunny joke – Emily feels panicky.

More than anything, she wants to be invisible: in all the time she has worked here, she has never found herself alone with such people in an office, and now she has no idea what to do: answer an earlier question, repeat her directions, or run away, forgetting to close the door behind her.

But it's as if she's no longer noticed – after some quiet negotiation, all three of them lean over the scattered pieces of paper, and then stare into the wall-mounted negatoscope: six projections of the brain catch their attention more than Johnson, who languishes waiting for the right papers.

Emily looks at the back of the neurosurgeon's head – almost white, short-cropped hair, a sort of pixie haircut that crosses all boundaries: torn strands and real chaos instead of styling.

The nurses also wore the same kind of hair, only it was more flashy and provocative: pink, blue, green, with the addition of dreadlocks, long bangs, or shaved temples, but it looked like they were trying to get attention. Clark, on the other hand, seems to find a breeze in every second, allowing that hair to be styled in any way .

– …patch it up right here," her slightly husky voice made the air vibrate, "see if anything comes of it. It won't be completely repaired, of course.

– Can you do that?

Clark shrugs, and the outline of lace underwear becomes visible through the thin fabric of her gray blouse.

– I'll try," she answers evasively. – But I need more tests.

– Speaking of tests. Miss Johnson is still waiting for her referrals. – Donald turns to Emily. – Moss is going to write it all out, wait for him outside, please.

– Dr. Moss," Andrew whispers, "is too busy for paperwork.

Emily doesn't know why, but she flares up like a Christmas tree, as if she'd been rudely answered, or rejected altogether; she blushes so red her cheeks are hotter than a fire; and Moss stares at her with an angry look in his eyes.

She has to get out of the office; a step, a second, a third – a soft footstep on the parquet, the barely perceptible creaking of the door, the sudden stuffiness and the strange, almost black sky in the windows.

Emily leans her back against the cool brick wall, and the air around her crumples like old dry paper. Scary words flash in her head: panic attack, anxiety disorder, nervous breakdown; but her pulse quickly evens out, and the decrepit paper air crumbles to ashes, allowing her to take a breath of pure oxygen.

She remembers: she is seventeen, a dusty path to the tops of medicine, dozens of books and bitten pencils ahead of her. Becoming a doctor, Emily dreams, saving people, deftly wielding a scalpel, saying "dry" to the head nurse, and having dinner with her colleagues in some quiet place in the evening, pouting cheekily, and stretching the words, "Let's not talk about work?"

Bites her lip: the tuition bills, the failed exams, her mother's sneers, "Daddy's very unhappy," George's dark red uniform: equality, they said, is the foundation of the basics.