“Jade,” he said quietly, so only I could hear. His use of my first name sent an unexpected warmth through me. “Are you certain about this<b>?</b><b>” </b>
I met his gaze steadily. “I’ve never lost a patient on my operating table, Ethan. Not one.”
Something shed in his eyes–relief, perhaps, or confirmation of a suspicion. He stepped aside, allowing me to
pass<b>. </b>
Twenty minutester, I stood in the operating room, properly scrubbed and gowned. William Haxtony unconscious on the table, monitors beeping steadily around him. The surgical team looked at me with varying degrees of skepticism and curiosity.
I approached the patient, noting the unusual bluish tint to his lips. I checked his pupiry response, then carefully examined his pulse points. The team watched in confusion as I spent nearly two minutes simply observing and palpating, a far cry from the usual rushed pre–surgical checks.
“This toxin…” I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. “I’ve seen it before.”
“You recognize it?” Walter asked hopefully.
I nodded slowly.
The anesthesiologist cleared his throat nervously. “Miss Morgan, shouldn’t we begin the procedure? The patient’s
vitals-”
“Are stable enough for me to be thorough,” I finished for him, not bothering to look up. The room fell silent. The senior surgeons exchanged nces, clearly ufortable with my unconventional approach, but no one dared interrupt further. Their respect for Walter Morrison and fear of Ethan Haxton kept their objections at bay.
“Scalpel,” I said, holding out my hand. The scrub nurse hesitated for a moment before cing the instrument in my palm.
Author’s POV:
Outside in the waiting area, the Haxton family had gathered. The eldest son paced nervously while Alexander sat beside his grandmother, holding her trembling hand.
“Who exactly is this girl?” the eldest demanded of Connor.
Connor swallowed hard. “She’s… a medical prodigy, sir.” He was already regretting mentioning Philip Thornton’s migraines. If this surgery went wrong, Ethan would have his head.
“A prodigy?” The man’s voice dripped with skepticism. “My father’s life is in the hands of some college student, and all you can tell me is that she’s a prodigy?”
<b>11:11 </b>Wed, Sep 24
In a corner, Mrs. Haxton whispered to Alexander, “Do you think she can really save him?”
Alexander squeezed her hand. “Uncle Ethan believes in her. That’s good enough for me.”
91
The clock ticked mercilessly as one hour stretched into two, then three. The family’s anxiety grew with each passing minute, the silence in the waiting room broken only by the asional cough or whispered conversation.
Four hourster, the operating room doors finally swung open. The two senior physicians who had assisted emerged, looking both exhausted and strangely invigorated.
“The surgery was sessful,” announced the first, who had been the most vocal opponent earlier. “The hematoma has beenpletely removed, with minimal impact to the surrounding tissue. It was…” he hesitated, searching for words, “…the most precise surgical technique I’ve ever witnessed.”
“Where did she train?” asked the second doctor, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I did the suture,” replied the first. “She asked me to close after she finished the procedure. Said I needed the practice.” He sounded offended and impressed in equal measure.
Ethan, who had been standing motionless by the window for hours, finally exhaled. William was wheeled out on a gurney, his head bandaged but his color already better than before. The family crowded around, relief evident on
their faces.
Walter emergedst, his face flushed with excitement. “The surgery couldn’t have gone better,” he announced. “The blood clot has been removed, and I believe Miss Morgan also has a solution for the toxin.”
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