Dr. Louis’s words were just a way to cover himself, making sure everyone knew it was Aiden’s idea to have this young woman operate on Mr. Jefferson. If anything went wrong, it would be on them, not him.
Aiden caught on right away and let out a short, dry laugh. “Let me give you all some advice. You’d better keep your eyes wide open, and don’t come complaining with regrets later.”
Getting to witness Miracle Hands in action was something people would fight for. Yet these people were standing around like they were just waiting for a show. Honestly, it was ridiculous.
Lydia didn’t bother arguing with them. She turned her attention back to Connor’s chest, to the spot where the bullet was lodged. Its position was almost wicked, like it was daring anyone to try and remove it.
Under the harsh lights, the surgical tools glinted coldly. Without a trace of hesitation, Lydia moved her instruments toward the most dangerous part of the wound.
Everyone watching seemed to stop breathing. One wrong move and Connor’s heart, already hanging by a thread, could give out completely.
But the disaster they all feared never came. Lydia’s hands moved with a calm precision, her fingers slicing through the chaos of blood and tissue. Every motion was careful and exact, like she was walking a tightrope, where even the smallest mistake meant disaster.
The room felt frozen in time. Tension filled the air. The only sounds were the steady beep of the monitors and Lydia’s slow, even breathing.
When she finally touched the cold metal of the bullet with her forceps, everyone tensed. She worked patiently, inching the bullet out little by little, each millimeter feeling like a battle.
The other doctors and nurses stared, eyes wide, barely able to believe what they were seeing.
At last, Lydia pulled out the bloodied bullet. She let out a long breath, relief shining in her eyes. But then she noticed something strange. There was a skull symbol carved into the bullet, faint but unmistakable. Instantly, her expression turned icy.


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