Chapter 1112:
Rylie’s voice sliced through the air, low and measured, yet laced with unspoken menace. “I’ll say this once more: step aside, or—”
She inclined her head slightly. Behind her, Nightingale and Storm moved forward, silent but imposing, tightening the tension in the air. Every word was steady and controlled, yet carried unassailable authority.
The nurse went pale, flicking a nervous glance at the doctor beside her.
The doctor swallowed hard, his composure faltering under Rylie’s gaze. “Ma’am… please, calm down. We understand your concern,” he said, voice wavering.
𝖸оu𝘳 𝗻𝖾𝘹t 𝘧𝗮𝘷𝘰r𝗶𝗍𝖾 𝗿е𝘢d 𝗂𝗌 𝗼𝘯 𝘨а𝗹𝗇o𝘷𝗲𝗅𝘴.𝘤𝗈𝗺
Rylie leaned forward in her wheelchair, her eyes locked on the doctor. “Here’s what I understand. Since I brought him here, no one will touch him without my consent—for any reason, under any circumstance.”
Her voice was sharp and unwavering. “Open that door. I assume full responsibility. If a single second of hesitation costs him his life, that weight will fall on you.”
The words hung in the air, final and unyielding.
The doctor’s knees felt weak under her stare. Memories of his superior’s warning flashed through his mind: never underestimate these visitors from Eshea; never show disrespect. Their status demanded deference.
He glanced warily at Nightingale and Storm and finally relented. With trembling hands, he stepped aside and pressed the button that slid open the heavy operating room doors.
As the doors parted, the sterile tang of antiseptic mixed with the iron scent of blood. Monitors shrieked their alarms, filling the room with a jarring, urgent rhythm.
Brad’s life balanced on a knife-edge, fragile and perilously close to slipping away.
Brad teetered on the edge of life and death.
Rylie’s eyes swept over him, taking in his pallid skin and the gruesome blend of blood and torn tissue that covered him. With Nightingale steadying her, she leaned toward the operating table, her voice calm but sharp enough to freeze the lead surgeon. “I am Brad’s attending physician. I know his condition thoroughly. Follow my instructions exactly—his life depends on it.”
Her gaze was steady, and every word carried authority. Behind her, Nightingale and Storm stood with an imposing stillness that made even the experienced surgeon hesitate. After a moment, he gave an uneasy nod and began reworking Brad’s leg according to her directions.
“Switch the irrigation to lactated Ringer’s solution mixed with 8% povidone-iodine, ten-to-one ratio. Maintain it at thirty-five degrees Celsius, with gentle low-pressure flushing.”
Supported by Nightingale, Rylie leaned closer, her eyes sharp as she examined every torn vessel and nerve strand.
“Clamp these two sections first with hemostats, but don’t disturb the adhered nerve bundles. Then secure the outer layer with 4-0 absorbable sutures, spacing them carefully and preserving their natural alignment. Handle everything gently.”
The surgeon glanced at her repeatedly, growing more astonished each time. He was slowly realizing he was witnessing a physician of exceptional skill and almost intuitive precision.
Sweat beaded on the surgeon’s brow under the mounting pressure, yet his hands—guided by her clear instructions—grew steadier, moving with new confidence.
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