Set apart from the quad, it was the most modern building on campus—a six-story tower of blue-tinted glass and steel. Some donor had written a large check to put their name here: Large brushed silver letters identified it as the Haxley Medical Center.They took an elevator to the fifth floor. Dr. Kujawa welcomed them and led them to an adjacent exam room. He wore a white lab coat with DR. KEN KUJAWA embroidered on the upper left chest. Kujawa looked trim and fit—early forties, Will guessed—with a close-cropped salt-and-pepper brush cut and a brusque, no-nonsense manner.“Have a seat right there, Mr. West,” said Dr. Kujawa, nodding to a table. “How’s your head feeling?”“Right now it feels fine,” said Will.“Let’s have a look.”Kujawa bent over him, parted Will’s hair, and examined the wound. “That’s what I thought,” he said cryptically. He waved Robbins over to see it; then they looked at each other.“What’s the problem?” asked Will.“Come into my office,”
