Chapter 30 #2
He approached me, picking me up in his arms. My foolish heart, as always, raced at the physical contact.
“Let’s go.”
Δ
At the hospital door, Nayra was already waiting for me with several files in hand. I nodded goodbye to Zion and he disappeared into the shadows with a determined expression.
“This way, doctor. We have to run to the surgical wing,” she said, pulling me by the hand.
“Who’s leading the patient’s surgery?” I needed to get up to speed on what was happening. Nayra looked at me with concern.
“You. Your support team will be the nurses.”
I would have frozen in my tracks if Nayra hadn’t been dragging me through the corridors.
“What do you mean? Isn’t there any other elmedic or human doctor available?” I asked, stunned.
“No, doctor! Selene is already in surgery removing an arrowhead from a soldier’s hip—it hit an artery and it’s very complicated. Adele is on her period. You know how it is—when one female starts her cycle, all the others sync up. There’s only you now.”
“Adele is on duty?” I narrowed my eyes at Nayra. The yonserin had been on duty before me, and it was impossible to have two people on duty at once.
“Yes! Selene visited her, that’s right.”
“But she was on duty a week ago!”
Nayra looked at me, confused.
“No, a week ago she traveled to see her mother.”
Okay! That was very strange, because the academy had informed me she’d gone on duty, plus I’d smelled blood coming from her.
However, I pushed the thought aside. I needed to focus on the present—I needed to concentrate.
We turned a corner and started climbing the stairs; the elevators were packed with patients being transferred.
“What about Ambrose and Lorenzo?”
“Lorenzo is in the middle of emergency cardiac surgery and nowhere near finished. Ambrose was transferred to the hospital in the fae district—he’ll be working with their medical team since we don’t have another surgical room here.
Before you ask, the other three human doctors are also in surgery,” she said breathlessly.
“Like I said, you’re all we’ve got, and the patient needs urgent care. ”
“What’s the case?” We climbed another flight of stairs—the surgical wing was on the top floor.
“Skull fracture with exposed brain tissue in the right hemisphere and cerebral compression from blood pooling in the subarachnoid space on the left. They told us a grenade exploded near her.”
This kind of serious injury could result in brain death if not addressed within minutes.
“But neural surgery is Ambrose’s specialty,” I exclaimed, worried. “Ambrose is Interion’s top neurosurgeon.”
“Yes, but he’s leading two neural surgeries simultaneously, and you’ve been specializing in this area too.
He chose to save two lives rather than risk saving only one.
Besides, the girl’s family requested you specifically—they heard about your skill and begged for you to take her case. Ambrose asked me to give you a note.”
She handed me a crumpled piece of paper, and while running up the stairs, I ventured to open it.
“Kyller, I want to make it clear that I had no other choice, but I believe this is a logical solution to the challenge we’re facing.
Don’t panic—I’m certain I’ve taught you well enough over these four years.
You’ll be facing a complicated case, but at least try to keep the girl alive.
As soon as I finish the simultaneous surgeries, I’ll come back to help you. ”
I tucked the note in my pocket, feeling somewhat nervous.
He was leading two surgical teams, and that required an insane level of skill—only Ambrose could pull off something like that.
If he’d stayed to do this surgery, I wouldn’t have been able to handle two at the same time.
Whatever case awaited me, it couldn’t be as bad as what he was doing.
“How long has she been like this?” I asked, taking the stairs three at a time.
“Approximately four hours. The CT scan is already up on the screen in the room.”
We finally arrived at the surgical wing, and when I walked in, the girl was already naked, the nurses cleaning and prepping her. She was young, a descendant of Vinturis, and her black hair cascaded like a bloodied waterfall down the side of the gurney. The exam images were on the screen.
“Goddess of the abyss,” I cursed, examining the CT scan.
The right side of her skull had been shattered, and the hemorrhage was contained on the left side, in the brain’s protective membranes, pressing against the entire neural system. There were also bone fragments embedded in the brain tissue.
Next to the panel, a summary of the damage flashed in red.
A third of the brain tissue was compromised and would have to be removed and regenerated.
Further down, a percentage box flashed a warning: a 30% chance the patient would survive the surgery and a 10% chance of surviving without lasting damage.
There was also a reminder flashing in green indicating she was a gorgon.
I’d never treated one of them, though their anatomy functioned exactly like the fae’s. Nayra moved closer.
“I know. We all know this is practically a lost cause.” She shrugged, discouraged.
I moved closer to the woman, studying her face.
It was destroyed and disfigured; the skin on the right half was burned, and the eye had swollen beyond recognition.
Still, the left half, which wasn’t as badly affected, seemed familiar.
The slanted eyes, flat nose, and prominent cheekbones were distinctive features of Vinturian women, and I’d always found them all strikingly similar to one another.
However, with half her head in ruins, it was hard to say whether I actually knew her or if it was just my imagination.
I looked for her name on the display, and in red letters it read “Yamamoto.” That didn’t help at all—when it came to Vinturian names, only the surname was shared publicly. The first name was reserved for those closest to them.
The girl was already intubated, and her heartbeat was slow. They’d placed a compress on her head, but the fabric was soaked with blood, dripping down through her long hair.
“Has the hospital already requested authorization from the gorgon matriarch of Vinturis to cut her hair?” I asked, studying the black locks.
Among gorgons, hair was a symbol of power and hierarchy.
The longer the hair, the higher one’s rank—and only matriarchs could cut their girls’ hair, usually as punishment.
This gorgon’s hair was so long it reached her hip, which meant she was someone important to her race.
“We were told she doesn’t need authorization.”