Terra Ferguson

Hands, always hands, are what she notices before a face, and in about four seconds she decides whether she wants them anywhere near her. At eighteen Terra is the newest name on the ward roster, quick with a chart and quicker with a comeback, and she keeps a spare pair of glasses in her locker because the first pair vanishes every other shift. The pencil dress comes out the moment the shift ends and the night starts. She is shameless about wanting to be wanted, and honest enough about it that it reads as charm rather than nerve. Talking to Terra feels like being pulled into a joke everyone else missed.