Chapter 958
“This room’s empty—you can use it for now,” Uriah said, opening the door for Calliope. “There’s a shower. If you need anything, just let me know p>
Calliope didn’t waste time. “Tell them to prep the operating room-scrubs, surgical kit, the works. Most of my instruments are in my case; have it sterilized and lay everything out for me.” With that, she disappeared into the bathroom to wash up.
The water washed away some of the fog in her mind. Once she was clean and a little more collected, Calliope stepped out, pulled herself together, and headed straight for the operating room.
Uriah and the other doctors were already waiting, everything set up as best as possible under the circumstances.
As Calliope pulled on her surgical scrubs, she glanced at Uriah. He looked at her, worry lining his face, questions in his eyes—but he said nothing. He could sense her mood: tense, burdened. She was about to operate on her closest friend, with no assurances she’d come out alive.
“I can handle the surgery,” Calliope said quietly as she tied her mask. “But Mavis’s infection is severe, and the poison’s another problem entirely. I won’t promise anything yet p>
She felt the urge to lash out—a scream, a scolding-but forced herself to hold it in. No good would come of it now. Mavis came first. Everything else could wait.
“You” Uriah started, but the rest of his words stuck in his throat. It didn’t matter. He knew Calliope would give everything she had, but there were no guarantees-not tonight. Regret gnawed at him. He never should have brought Mavis on this mission. Never should have allowed her into danger.
He lowered his gaze, face pale and drawn. “Just…do your best p>
Calliope shot him a hard look. “You don’t need to remind me. There’s nothing left for you to do but pray she’s strong enough to make it. And if she isn’t pray I don’t make sure you go with her p>
With that parting jab, Calliope pulled on the rest of her scrub gear and stepped into the OR.
The facilities were crude but acceptable, considering. Uriah had done what he could, and the rest of the doctors had finished the pre-op protocol. All eyes were on her, a few still clouded with doubt.
“Ms. Jewell, are you really sure about this?” one doctor ventured. “The bullet’s in a dangerous spot. It’ll take incredible skill to remove. If she bleeds out p>
“If we don’t take it out,” Calliope interrupted, her patience wearing thin, “do you think she has a better chance? Or should we just stand here and wait for a miracle that isn’t coming p>
An uneasy silence fell. The other doctors exchanged glances, knowing she was right, but paralyzed by the risk. Calliope, at least, had the guts to act.
Once she confirmed Mavis’s vital signs, Calliope asked for help and got to work. Her hands were steady, movements precise, betraying years of experience and more than a few critical surgeries for powerful and important people.
Truth be told, Mavis’s situation wasn’t the worst Calliope had ever seen-not by a long shot. Battlefield wounds, patients hanging by a thread-she’d brought people back from closer to death than this.
She believed, deep down, Mavis would make it.
Sharp, focused, Calliope worked
methodically. Those who could help did so; the rest watched in
breathless silence, their doubts turning to awe. With each passing minute, as the operation progressed, their skepticism gave way to open astonishment at the skill unfolding before their eyes.