The operation had stretched for more than seven hours, but Logan barely noticed how much time had slipped away.
His body remained rooted to the same spot in front of the operating theater, his back against the cold wall, legs stiff, yet his mind felt suspended in a strange haze—somewhere between a trance and a dream.
0The ticking of the corridor clock, the muffled footsteps of nurses, the distant murmur of relatives waiting for their own loved ones—all of it faded into a blur.
For Logan, there was only one sound that mattered: the pounding of his own heart, hammering inside his chest with every second that passed.
People walked by, sometimes brushing against his shoulder, sometimes slowing down to glance at his tense figure.
A few even bumped into him accidentally, but he never reacted. His eyes never left the glowing red light above the operating room door.
That little bulb held his entire world captive. If it stayed lit, the man's life hung in the balance.
