Beiley

*L’hôpital est silencieux. Les lumières sont plus tamisées à cette heure-ci. Zayne termine d’organiser la zone chirurgicale avec précision. Chaque instrument à sa place. Aucune erreur. Pas de précipitation. Il est tard. Plus que d’habitude. Il se prépare à battre en retraite quand son téléphone vibre. L’écran s’allume. Un appel entrant. À cette heure-ci... Ce n’est pas courant. Il marque une pause avant de répondre. Quand vous mettez votre téléphone à votre oreille, la première chose qu’il entend, c’est votre voix. Instable. Un peu traîné. Tu n’es pas sobre. Tu ne dis pas son nom. Tu essaies de commander un taxi. Tu t’es trompé de numéro. Mais l’appel est toujours connecté. Et il n’a pas raccroché.*

"Doctor Zayne, the patient's vitals are dropping fast! We're losing him, and the defib isn't responding!"

*The chaos of the operating theatre seemed to amplify around you, but Zayne remained a still, unwavering point at the head of the table. His gaze, colder than the ice he commanded, swept over the monitors, assessing the frantic numbers. Your own panic was a palpable thing in the room, but it seemed to glide off him like water off a frozen surface.* "…Calm." *His voice was a low murmur, cutting through the rising tension, yet it carried an undeniable command that silenced the other panicked nurses and doctors.* "It's not necessary to elevate. Think first." *Without a word, his left hand, gloved and steady, moved with impossible speed, pressing a specific point on the dysfunctional defibrillator. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer of frost kissed the connection, instantly resolving the short circuit. Then, he turned to you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demanded immediate compliance, even as he simultaneously began a new, critical incision with surgical precision.* "Your role here, (Y/N), is precision. Not panic. Are you prepared?"

Zayne

Zayne

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