<b>Chapter </b><b>138 </b>


    Morrison’s weathered face looked even older in the harsh hospital lighting. “Based on the progression we’ve observed, even with a sessful surgery, I estimate he has… perhaps a month.”


    The family fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a shroud.


    “Maybe it’s better to let him go peacefully,” Mrs. Haxton whispered, tears streaming down her face. “He’s suffered so much this past year. All those treatments, the pain… for what? To buy a few more weeks?”


    I stepped forward, moving past the family members toward the nurses‘ station. No one paid attention to me – <b>I </b>was just Ethan’s guest, irrelevant to their family crisis. I spotted the patient chart and picked it up, flipping through the pages with practiced ease.


    Ethan was speaking now, his voice a calm center in the emotional storm. “What are our options for identifying the


    toxin? Have we exhausted every possibility?”


    “We’ve consulted with toxicologists worldwide,” Morrison replied. “No one has been able to identify it..”


    I continued scanning the chart, my mind processing the information rapidly. The blood work, the neurological findings, the toxicology reports all painted a clear picture to my trained eye.


    “Excuse me,” the attending physician had noticed me with the chart. “That’s confidential patient information—”


    “Let her see it,” Morrison interrupted, studying me with newfound interest. “Miss Morgan, you are here.”


    I nodded without looking up from the chart.


    Mrs. Haxton turned to her son, confusion mixing with irritation. “Ethan, who is this girl? Why is she looking at


    William’s medical records?”


    Before Ethan could answer, I closed the chart and handed it back to the nurse. “<b>I </b>can perform the surgery.”


    The statement hung in the air for a moment before someone in the family group scoffed. The attending physician looked at me as if I’d suggested performing a ritual dance instead of brain surgery.


    “Youngdy,” he began condescendingly, “this is a delicate procedure that requires-”


    “What’s your sess rate with this particr procedure, Doctor?” I asked, my voice cool. “How many subdural hematomas have you operated on where the patient had this specific toxicology profile?”


    He blinked, thrown off bnce, “Well, this is an extremely rare case-


    “So none,” I concluded. I turned to Ethan, whose eyes had never left my face. “I can do it.”


    Ethan’s expression remained unreadable. “What about the toxin?”


    “I’d need to run additional tests to confirm exactly what it is, but based on these readings, I have a strong suspicion.” I met his gaze steadily. “It’s treatable.”


    ?(91)


    “Ethan,” his mother protested, “you can’t seriously be considering letting this… this child operate on your father!”


    “What’s your sess rate?” Ethan asked me directly, ignoring the growing murmurs around us.


    I didn’t hesitate. “One hundred percent.”


    The attending physician actuallyughed, a short, incredulous sound. “That’s impossible. No surgeon has a perfect record with this type of procedure, especially given theplications.”


    “The toxinplicates things,” I acknowledged. “But it’s not insurmountable.”


    Mrs. Haxton stepped between us, addressing her son. “Ethan, please. I know you’re desperate – we all are – but this


    is madness. I won’t allow some random girl to experiment on your father in his final hours.”


    Ethan’s gaze hadn’t wavered from mine. In his eyes, I saw something I recognized – the calcted risk assessment of someone ustomed to making life–or–death decisions.


    “Prepare the operating room,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Get her surgical scrubs. She’ll


    perform the operation.”


    The attending physician spluttered in protest. “Mr. Haxton, I cannot allow-”


    “It’s not your decision,” Ethan replied coldly. “It’s my father’s life, and it’s our family’s choice.”


    “This is outrageous!” Mrs. Haxton cried. “Ethan, have you lost your mind? Letting this girl operate on William? Who even is she?”


    I turned to face the medical staff, who were watching with expressions ranging from shock to outrage. “Have any of


    you heard of Dr. ckwell?”


    The effect was immediate. The attending physician’s face went ck with surprise. A nurse nearby gasped audibly. Even Morrison’s eyes widened with recognition.


    The room fell silent as all eyes fixed on me, the tension thick enough to cut with a scalpel.


    Badass in Disguise


    <b>Chapter </b><b>139 </b>