“BP is dropping—70 over 40 and falling fast!”
Vivian’s chest tightened, but she forced herself to breathe. Focus. Just focus.
“Clamp here,” she ordered sharply, her voice cutting through the noise like a scalpel through tissue.
A nurse complied immediately, holding the clamp in place as Vivian made her first incision. The blade glided over the skin and a small, controlled stream of blood welled up around the entry point.
“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath. She could feel the sweat gathering at her hairline, dripping down her temple and pooling at the edge of her surgical mask. The sterile room felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in.
“Sponges,” she barked, and the nurse passed her one without hesitation. Vivian dabbed at the blood, her eyes never leaving the open wound
