Page 45 of Of Sins and Sacrifice

More females arrive and take their place in the line.

I gulp down as I watch my chances of getting this job dwindling by the moment.

It all hits me in the face when one of the females next to me takes out a thick book about nursing from her purse and starts reading.

I angle my body toward her so I can gaze at what’s written inside. But I only manage to read a couple paragraphs before she catches me and gives me a glare. She shuffles a few paces away from me and continues to read.

Damn it. These people are treating this as a competition. Not that it’s not, since we are all hoping to get one spot. Everyone has their reasons for wanting the job, but I am right herestarving. That should take precedence. Or at least it does, in my mind.

The line slowly moves forward, and I get the opportunity to see some of the military base. There are one-level buildings and tents erected everywhere, with military trucks running up and down the makeshift streets.

As I poke my head out of the queue, I note that the registration is being held in a similar building. Every female goes in, spends some five minutes inside, after which she comes out with a slip of paper in her hands.

When my turn comes, I’m already bored out of my mind. My stomach is growling incessantly, but I try to put on a smile—though damn, that’s hard.

Getting inside the building, I see there are three males behind a desk, shuffling some papers. Two have white coats, indicating they are doctors, while the other one has a military uniform on. The male in military garb is annotating things on a piece of paper, and he barely looks at me as I come in.

One of the doctors invites me to take a seat in front of them.

“Name?” the officer asks.

“M—” I stop myself. My name is not what you would expect of a British female, which might arouse their suspicion. The last thing I need is for them to think I might be a spy or somethingof the sort. Thinking quickly, I change some letters around to anglicize my name. “Mina Anyan.”

“Spell that for me,” the officer says.

I do, and he doesn’t bat an eye at my last name. I only removed the apostrophe from it because how the hell do I come up with an entirely different name in just a few seconds? Then again, maybe I should have prepared for it in advance.

“Age?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Marital status?”

“Unwed.”

“Good. Are you engaged?”

“No.”

They nod. It seems that was the correct answer.

“Good. Now tell us about your experience.”

Uhm…

“I graduated from a three-year nursing program in London.”

“Which one?”

I blink.Think, Minerva, think!

“The Nightingale one,” I quickly say.

“Good program.” The doctors nod.

So it is a program. I breathe out a sigh of relief. Was I bluffing? Perhaps, but Nightingale is the most famous human nurse, so I took my chances with her name.

“Any practical experience?”

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