It had been over seven hours since Devon got back to the hospital. He leaned back in his chair, the sterile hum of the hospital fading into a distant drone as he ran his hands through his dark hair, still damp from the surgical cap he'd worn in the operating theatre.
The surgery had been a brutal six-hour marathon, a high-stakes ballet of scalpel and suture to reconstruct a patient's shattered femur. Now, in the quiet of his office, he turned his focus to the Brave and Brightest Exhibit, a prestigious medical conference in Geneva where he'd been invited to present the hospital .
The hospital had arranged a private jet for 11 p.m., and the digital clock on his desk glowed 10:03 pm, its red numbers a silent countdown. His leather duffel bag sat half-packed, he was zipping up the bag, when the door creaked open, and two figures slipped inside.
