Chapter 6

The operating room was brightly lit.

The glare of the surgical lights was almost blinding.

The smell of antiseptic hung heavy in the air.

Cold instruments were lined up perfectly on the sterile trays.

The ECG monitor beeped in a steady rhythm, tapping against everyone's nerves like a metronome.

Jonathan lay in the center of the operating table.

His eyes were closed, his face pale, and his body was covered in tubes.

He was nothing like the spirited, coldly proud man he used to be.

Right now, he was nothing more than a vulnerable patient, hoping for rescue.

I put on sterile gloves and walked over to him.

The anesthesiologist gave me a nod. "Dr. Evans, we are ready."

I nodded and picked up the scalpel.

The blade caught the overhead lights, reflecting a cold, white gleam.

My hands were perfectly steady.

I opened the skull, separated the tissue, and exposed the surgical field.

Every single step was executed with the flawless precision of a routine I had practiced a thousand times.

The operating room was silent.

The only sounds were the crisp clinking of surgical tools and the hum of the monitors.

My entire world narrowed down to the microscopic field of view.

Nerves, blood vessels, brain matter. They were fragile and incredibly intricate.

Time seemed to stand still.

All my senses were hyper-focused into my fingertips.

I could feel the slight resistance with every pass of the blade.

I could hear the faint sizzle of the electrocautery tool burning through tissue.

I saw the shrapnel.

It was wedged tightly in the crevices of the nerves, giving off a dark metallic sheen.

My breathing instinctively grew shallower. There was absolutely zero room for error from this point on.

Peering through the specialized microscope, I painstakingly peeled away the tissue encasing it, millimeter by millimeter.

The process dragged on for what felt like a century.

A fine layer of sweat broke out on my forehead.

The circulating nurse immediately stepped in to dab it away.

Finally, the surrounding tissue was completely cleared.

The fragment was fully exposed.

Now was the moment.

I held my breath, gripping it securely with my forceps.

Then, with agonizing slowness, I pulled it upward.

One millimeter. Two millimeters.

Just as it was about to come completely free, the heart monitor let out a piercing alarm.

A long, continuous beep sounded. A flatline appeared on the screen.

"Dr. Evans! V-fib! The patient's heart has stopped!" my assistant yelled, panic lacing his voice.

The tension in the room skyrocketed.

Every pair of eyes snapped to me.

My brain, however, remained unnaturally calm.

"Defibrillator! Prep it!" I ordered, without letting go of my forceps. "Push one milligram of epi, IV!"

The nurses and assistants scrambled into action.

Meanwhile, my hand remained perfectly still, holding the lethal metal shard in place.

Just a fraction more. I could not let go.

"Defibrillator ready!"

"Charged to two hundred joules!"

"Clear!" I shouted.

Jonathan's body jolted upward violently from the electric shock.

On the monitor, the flatline began to show a faint spike.

"Sinus rhythm restored!" my assistant cried out in absolute relief.

I didn't react. Taking advantage of the brief window, I flicked my wrist.

With a soft clink, the shrapnel that had tortured him for three years, and trapped me for three years, was completely removed.

I dropped it securely into the metal basin.

The sound it made hitting the metal was the most beautiful symphony I had ever heard.

I let out a long, relieved breath.

The final suturing didn't require my personal touch.

I peeled off my blood-stained gloves, turned around, and walked out of the OR.

It felt as if all my strength had been siphoned away.

The operating room doors swung open.

Outside, Margaret and Sophie swarmed me immediately.

Their faces were etched with raw tension and desperate anticipation.

I looked at them, my gaze gave nothing away.

I pulled down my mask. My voice was raspy from the hours of intense focus.

"The surgery was a success," I said.

A wave of immense relief washed over Margaret's face.

Tears instantly spilled from Sophie's eyes. She opened her mouth to say something in her excitement.

But I didn't give her the chance.

I swept my gaze over both of them before stating flatly, "My job here is done.

"From this moment forward, whether the man on that operating table lives or dies, recovers or becomes paralyzed, is none of my concern. Our agreement ends here."

With that, I didn't spare them another glance.

Dragging my exhausted body, I walked away from the place that had suffocated me for so long.

The noise behind me faded away.

I walked down the long hospital corridor.

The morning sun filtered through the windows, bathing me in its light.

It was warm.

I knew it then.

For the first time in years, the sun was finally rising on my life.