One Dollar For Pity: The Surgeon Returns

Elisa stood in the changing area. She pulled the dark blue scrub top over her head.

She picked up a specialized black surgical mask and secured it tightly over her nose and mouth. Next, she slid on a pair of anti-glare surgical goggles. They covered the upper half of her face. Only her cold, unblinking eyes were visible.

She pushed open the breakroom door and walked down the hall toward the massive waiting area outside the main operating theater.

The atmosphere in the waiting room was suffocating. Dozens of armed men in black suits stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking every exit.

Kasper Ruiz, the heir to the cartel, paced frantically across the floor. His eyes were bloodshot, his fists clenched.

In the corner, the hospital director and three vice presidents huddled together, wiping sweat from their necks, looking terrified.

And standing in the shadows near the far wall, leaning against a pillar, was Conrad. He hadn't left. His dark eyes were fixed on the hallway entrance.

The automatic glass doors slid open. Elisa walked into the room. Her steps were heavy, measured, and completely fearless.

The moment she appeared, the low murmurs in the room died. Absolute silence fell over the crowd.

Every eye locked onto the slender figure radiating a terrifying, oppressive aura.

The hospital director practically tripped over his own feet rushing forward. He bowed his head, his voice trembling with absolute reverence. "Dr. Hades."

Kasper Ruiz stopped pacing. He stared at Elisa's small frame. His upper lip curled in doubt.

He stepped directly into her path, his massive chest blocking her way. "You're Hades? You look like a kid. Is this a joke?"

In the shadows, Conrad's heart slammed against his ribs. His eyes locked onto the shape of the woman's eyes behind the goggles. The curve of her brow. The way she stood.

No, his brain screamed. Impossible.

Elisa didn't stop walking. She didn't slow down.

She tilted her head slightly, her voice muffled by the mask but dripping with absolute authority.

"His oxygen saturation is at forty percent. The left ventricle is failing. If you stand in my way for another sixty seconds, you can go ahead and read his will."

The sheer dominance in her voice hit Kasper like a physical blow. His instincts as an alpha predator recognized a superior force. He subconsciously took a step back, clearing the path.

Vera poked her head out of the operating room doors. "Anesthesia is ready! We need the blade now!"

Elisa ignored Kasper. She walked straight toward the sterile airlock doors.

Conrad couldn't stop himself. His body moved before his brain gave the order. He pushed off the pillar, his long legs eating up the distance across the room.

Just as Elisa reached the sensor pad, Conrad's large hand shot out. He clamped his fingers around her forearm. A jolt of electricity shot up his arm-a tactile memory his body recognized before his conscious mind did.

Instantly, the sound of metal clicking echoed through the room. Six of Ruiz's bodyguards drew their weapons, aiming the barrels directly at Conrad's head and chest.

Elisa stopped. She turned her head slowly.

Her freezing gaze met Conrad's wide, chaotic eyes.

"Let go," she commanded. The voice was muffled by the thick black mask, but the underlying icy cadence, the specific inflection of the vowels, struck him like a physical blow.

Conrad's jaw trembled. He stared into those familiar eyes, his mind scrambling to reject the impossible data, his voice cracking as he whispered a single word. "Elisa?"

Elisa violently ripped her arm out of his grip. Her expression didn't change. There was no recognition, no panic. Just the cold annoyance of a god looking at a bug.

"Remove your hand," she spat.

She turned around and stepped into the airlock. The heavy steel doors slid shut with a loud hiss, locking Conrad out.

Conrad stood frozen, staring at the metal doors, his mind fracturing into a million pieces.