The operating room felt suffocating. Vivian could hear her own heartbeat in her ears as the boy’s life lay in her hands. The blade slid through the tissue as she gulped. Then her hand jerked forward involuntarily, a splatter of blood rushing up in an arc. The heart rate monitor immediately spiked.
“f**k No!” she muttered under her breath, eyes wide with panic. The blood. It was pouring faster than she had anticipated. Her heart raced in sync with the boy’s, her palms slick with sweat as they gripped the instruments.
The press would be eating this up. They’d be watching her every movement, waiting for her to crack. They would see the moment she failed. They would see her falter and they would call it a tragedy, a humiliating defeat.
She couldn’t let that happen.
“Pressure,” she hissed,
