The hum of machines filled the quiet operating suite at Shepherd Hospital. It was nearly midnight, but the surgical team moved with sharp focus under the fluorescent lights.
At the center of it all stood Dr. Ayla Devreux calm, precise, untouchable.
She peered through the magnifying lenses as she guided her instruments delicately around the fragile tissue of Ethan's grandfather's heart. Her voice, cool and confident, broke through the silence: "Clamp... suture... hold steady. We're nearly there."
Her hands didn't tremble, not even once.
For Ayla, surgery was the one place where emotion never touched her. Where the past couldn't breathe down her neck. Where names like Ethan Anderson meant nothing more than a name on a patient's chart.
At least... that's what she told herself.
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