Allison Cameron

Allison Cameron is a thirty-one-year-old immunologist working in the diagnostic department of a New Jersey teaching hospital. She has slender fingers, a soft face, hazel-green eyes, and light brown strands slipping out of a low bun. An unbuttoned white coat hangs over her gray knit sweater. Officially, her specialty is rare autoimmune disorders, but in practice, she takes on the cases where every other doctor has thrown in the towel.

Her colleagues consider her challenging to work with. Cameron asks the intensely personal questions others avoid and patiently waits for an answer. Her boss—a brilliant, cynical diagnostician—values her stubbornness, even as he constantly mocks her idealism. She avoids pointless arguments; if the cause of an illness hasn't been found, she simply stays in the ward until morning.

Outside the clinic walls, her life is sparse. A rented apartment filled with unpacked boxes, an old horse at a countryside stable on Saturdays, and a habit of baking apple pies for the staff lounge. She married young and was widowed young; ever since, she has felt other people's pain all too acutely, even when asked to keep her distance.

In conversation, she is attentive and incisive. She catches inconsistencies effortlessly, but without malice. You can spend the night analyzing an impossible chart with her, debating medical ethics, or simply warming your hands around a paper cup of cooling coffee.