Page 2 of Wistful Whispers

Where theycan’texist.

Miranda looks impossibly tiny on the table, her head secured in a rigid frame. I’ve assisted in dozens of surgeries. Something about this one feels different. Maybe it’s her age, maybe it’s the way she looked at me before they wheeled her in here.

Maybe it’s because I need this to go well—not for her. For me. For my career.

For mysanity.

Bryce stands at the head of the table, his presence commanding. Movements deliberate. He’s been in the game forever. His reputation borders on legendary. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful to be learning under him.

There’s always an unspoken tension between us—the unmovable old-school mentor and the ambitious resident who embraces a new way of patient care, yet still has to prove himself.

“LITT system ready?” Bryce peers over his glasses.

“Ready,” I confirm, my steady hands poised and prepared.

The MRI monitor glows, displaying the biggest tumor in real-time imaging. It’s invasive, nestled dangerously close to critical structures. Not unbeatable, though.

“Target locked.” I focus in. “Ready for ablation.”

Bryce activates the laser. The heat burns through the tumor, destroying the cancerous tissue while sparing the surrounding brain tissue. It’s delicate, precise work, and I watch every movement with fascination as I do everything he asks of me.

This man is an artist.

For the first hour, everything goes according to plan. The tumor is responding, shrinking under the guided heat. Until—

“Pressure’s rising,” Kendrick Lyon, the anesthesiologist warns. “Intracranial pressure is up to 25.”

I glance at the monitor and panic buzzes where my breath should be. This is way too high. We’ve been monitoring for swelling, however, this spike is dangerous.

Lethal.

Bryce’s expression doesn’t change, he remains calm under pressure. “Thank you, Kendrick. We need to manage the swelling. Seamus, please adjust the laser. We need to move faster.”

I nod, adjusting the fiber carefully and quickly. The pressurehasto come down. We can’t afford a rupture.

Then something shifts—something Bryce obviously doesn’t see. A shadow on the monitor. Small. Unmistakable.

A blood vessel. It’s too close.

I hesitate, my instinct and training screams at me to slow down. To reassess. Bryce is already moving, already increasing the intensity.

“Dr. Caldwell—” I bark.

“I see it,” he snaps. “Keep going.”

Except he doesn’t see it. Not really. At least, I don’t think he realizes…

Before I can finish my thought, it happens.

A rupture.

Blood floods into the surgical field, the dark-red liquid pooling fast.

Too fast.

“Shit,” Bryce mutters. “Suction, now.”

I react instinctively, grabbing the tube, working to clear the blood. It’s not enough. It’s not working. The pressure keeps climbing.

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