Work Text:
Zayne's grip on the phone tightens until his knuckles have turned white, his breath getting caught in his throat at what he’s hearing. The others at the conference table are watching him curiously, wondering what the call could be about, but he's completely forgotten about their existence. Nothing else matters but what Greyson is saying on the other side of the phone.
“Evie has been in surgery for the past three hours, and it's bad.”
“What is the cause?” Zayne asks. He's already on his feet, not answering any of the other people gathered as they ask him where he's going, and what's happening. He merely strides out of the room, his steps wide and long to carry him quickly through the halls of the building.
“They thought it was tachycardia,” Greyson responds. Zayne can hear shuffling on the other end of the phone, and he assumes it's to change into the proper scrubs to enter the operation room. Zayne can feel some pressure being lifted from him knowing that Greyson is going in to help keep her stable, but it's not enough. He still can feel the crushing weight on his shoulders, the iron clamp around his lungs squeezing the breath out of him. He could feel a sickening grip clenching in his gut, and it's difficult for him to swallow down the rising need to vomit. “But it turns out it was protocardia. Her heart is struggling to keep up with the pulses from her protocore, causing it to beat faster than it should.”
“How many beats per minute?” Zayne asks. He pushes out of the conference building, his feet hitting the ground hard with each step. His long strides carry him to his rented car quickly, and in a second, he's already pulling his seatbelt over himself. Ice is creeping up from his fingertips to his biceps, leaving a numbing sting in his skin. He flexes his hands to keep his fingers from freezing over. He needs them to work.
“Last I heard, the resting rate was one hundred and twenty,” Greyson says. A sink turns on, and his voice grows more distant as he begins to lather his arms in soap. His voice is tight with worry, and Zayne can tell he’s panicking over this as well. He's keeping his panic under wraps better than Zayne, however. “I'm going in now to help keep her stable. I promise you I won't let her slip away.”
Zayne’s eyes close at Greyson’s words for a moment, his hand trembling for the first time in years as he presses the ignition for his rental car. He wills it to still as he grabs the steering wheel with both hands, quickly pulling out of the parking lot to drive to the airport. He’d received a notification moments before Greyson had called, informing him that he had a plane ticket in an hour to get back to Linkon. “I'm trusting you, Doctor Greyson,” he says gravely.
“I won’t let anything happen,” Greyson says again. “I have to go now.”
The phone disconnects, leaving Zayne to be plunged into pained silence. His grip on the wheel is tight, his gaze locked on the road in front of him as he weaves through traffic, going as fast as he can to get to the airport. Her life is on the line- he has to get there soon. He knows Greyson will keep her alive until he gets there, but he also knows the other doctors on staff at Akso aren't as experienced handling protocardia like he is. He has to get there, or her life is at stake.
Protocardia is a high risk heart ailment that was recently discovered. After the outbreak of Wanderers, and people being born or found with protocores in their hearts, it quickly became apparent that a whole new section of heart health had to be updated. One such update was that of protocardia- common heart flutter caused by the out of control pulsing from the protocore. Normally, it wouldn’t be too much of a concern for other patients.
But Evie isn't like other patients, and her heart is far more fragile than the common patient’s.
He grips the wheel tighter, and rushes for the airport.
--------———--------———----------———---------——
The flight took too long in Zayne’s opinion. Thank the gods above that he had been booked on a private flight to get to Akso as soon as possible, but it still took much too long. It took thirty minutes for him to reach the hospital, and then another thirty for the plane to prepare. By the time it was up in the air, another thirty minutes had passed. He sat in one of the many empty chairs in the airplane, his spine straight, his body rigid. He could hardly even breathe, and with nothing to do with his jittering hands, he gripped the seat’s armrests tightly. His nails dug into the plastic surface, leaving deep indentations in its surface.
When they reached Linkon City Airport, it was two hours later, and he hardly waited for the plane to land before he was already rushing out of it. He stormed through the interior of the building, snowflakes swirling in the air around him. Those inside seemed to sense his impatience and his panic, or they noticed the small storm brewing around him, because they parted for him, making way. Parents would quickly grab their children out of Zayne’s path, and a teen had to stumble out of his way at one point, lest he'd have been run over by the focused doctor. He left a trail of ice in his path, forming in the shape of his foot prints.
The sky outside was dark by the time he stepped out into the parking lot. It was night already, with thick clouds choking out the black sky. Zayne heard thunder rumbling high above him, mirroring the raging storm inside and outside of him. He feels cold, ice crackling as it spread across his skin further and further.
It took him fifteen minutes to reach his car, parked far in the back, but when reached it he flung the door open. His heart was thudding in his chest, working over time for both his mounting fear and how fast he's moving. He hasn't relaxed since he’d received the call, and he wouldn't relax until Evie was out of the danger zone. All he had to do was get there, and he would be able to fix her heart and get her back to being stable. He could do that. He knew he could. He’s rarely ever failed in cardiac surgery, and he was sure as hell not going to fail at it now. Not with her life on the line.
It was another thirty minutes by the time he reached the hospital; too long. It took him two hours and fifteen minutes to reach the hospital. Two hours and fifteen minutes much too long. He storms in, pausing when Yvonne rushes over to him, a clipboard in hand. She holds it out to him, and he takes it without a thought.
“She’s in theater two,” Yvonne informs him quickly. She doesn't seem bothered by the fact he continues walking without speaking to her, instead seeming concerned. She’s worried about Evie, too. Everyone here is. Evie is such a bright light in the hospital, and Zayne’s staff adores her almost as much as he does himself. Zayne knows how close they are to her.
He makes a beeline for theater two, not bothering to grab his coat. He steps inside, finding one of his spare sets of scrubs in the cabinets. He races to pull them on, going faster than he ever has before. Then, he hurries to the sink, reading over Evie’s papers as he lathers his arms and washes them. He ensures that he turns the water on hot, washing away the shards of ice that had formed along his skin thoroughly. He doesn't need to be melting when he cuts into her. He pulls on his hair cap and pair of sterile gloves, using them to place a face mask over his lips.
Once he's finished, he doesn't hesitate to enter the operating room. The lights are turned on bright, and there is a small group of nurses, along with doctors Greyson and Malik. Greyson is directly beside the operating table, his eyes glued to the heart monitor. Malik spots Zayne enter, her shoulders deflating with relief at the sight of the chief surgeon.
Zayne’s eyes land on the figure lying on top of the table, and he feels sick all over again.
Evie is hooked up to various machines and tubes, her face pale as her eyes remain closed. Her lips are parted beneath an oxygen mask, which feeds air into her lungs forcibly. There are multiple wires connected to her skin, keeping an eye on her stats at all times. She would have looked like she were sleeping, if not for the medical equipment surrounding her. Her hair is pulled back in a blue cap, hiding her soft locks. A blue tarp is draped over her body, fastened in place with a hole directly over her bare chest. Her breasts are covered as best as they can be for the procedure, and there is already a line drawn into her skin where Zayne will need to cut. A shudder runs down his spine.
He decides then and there that he doesn't like seeing her like this.
He takes only a moment to drink in the sight before he’s at her opposite side from Greyson. Malik moves to the side for him, but remains on standby in case he needs an extra set of hands. The nurses gathered continue to monitor her vitals, their eyes glued to the screen.
“Status,” Zayne demands the moment he's beside her. He stares down at her unconcious face, his heart twisting in his chest. She shouldn't look like this. She shouldn't be like this. She should never be on an operating table- he was ensuring that for her with every check up and appointment. If that Wanderer hadn't hit her at the worst angle, she wouldn't be here. He’d never have allowed it.
“She’s currently stable,” Greyson responds instantly. “However, her EKG is currently one hundred and fifty-five. We have her on oxygen because earlier, when she was breathing on her own, the EKG was higher.”
That's not a good sign. “What is her common protorate?”
A protorate is the rate at which a person's protocore pulses. Ideally, one’s protorate should match their heart rate. Normally. however, a protorate is slower than a heart rate. Problems arise when the protorate is faster than the resting heart rate, which causes issues for the heart. If her protorate is faster than her EKG now, then it would be an even higher concern. Especially since she's in the middle of protocardia, which is caused when a protocore is making contact with the owner's heart.
“It's currently at two hundred pulses per minute,” Greyson replies gravely. Zayne grits his teeth together, drawing in deep breaths through his nose. “From what Doctor Malik could see through the X-rays, her protocore is making contact with her heart in the atrium.”
That means the protocore is at a forty-five degree angle. The Wanderer attack had knocked it out of place badly, and he's sure the point of it may have caused a minor rupture in the muscle tissue of her atrium. He has to work fast. She’s been in this state far too long for his liking.
“I need a microscalpel,” Zayne says sharply. Doctor Malik moves quickly, and Greyson is already readying the sternal saw for when he needs it. “Turn the lights at a ninety degree angle over her chest. I need a better view. And Greyson, inject her chest with Floseal to minimize bleeding. Nurses, bring the cauterizing wire.”
Some of the nurses get to adjusting the lights as Zayne takes hold of the microscalpel. He holds it tightly in his right hand, and curses himself when it starts to shake. Dammit, he can't be shaking right now. Not when her life is on the line. He’s known for his steady hands. He’s cut into various patients before…
But then again, none of those patients have been Evie. He feels sick at the very thought of cutting into her, even if it is to save her life. He’s never wanted to do this before. He feels himself freezing up- something he's never done in the middle of a surgery, and it's not even due to his Evol.
He wills his hand to still, to stop its betrayal. He wills himself to start moving, to get on with the procedure.
Across the table, Greyson’s eyes lock onto his struggle.
“Doctor Zayne,” he says. Zayne’s eyes darted over to him. “Do you need me to start the incision?”
If Greyson did it, then Zayne wouldn't be the one to cut into her. He wouldn't be the one cutting her open like some kind of experiment, just as she'd been raised to be as a child. He wouldn’t be responsible for her blood congealing under the blade, and he wouldn't be the reason her skin is split open. He knows Greyson has a steady hand, as well- he'd made sure of it when he'd picked him as his assistant. He knows he can trust him.
But he also refuses to let anyone else do this. No one else should ever cut into her again. She had been too often in the experiments he’d read about. He even recalls a conversation they’d had a few months prior in passing,
“Doctor Zayne,” Evie said, sitting across the desk from him. Zayne looked up from her files, a single brow raised in question. She placed her hands on his desk, fingers tapping on it. “What would happen if I needed to receive surgery?”
That question shocked him. “What?” he said, for once unable to keep the surprise from his voice. He strives to not let her see or hear any surprise she ever puts him through, but he never would have expected this question. Sure, he’s a doctor, and is asked this frequently, but he'd never expected it from her. “Why would that matter? You're not going to need surgery. I will make sure of that during our checkups.”
She pursed her lips at him, unhappy with the answer. “Okay, yeah, but what if?” she asked again, with more emphasis this time. She scooted her chair closer to the front of his desk, leaning over its edge. “What if I did end up needing surgery?”
Zayne stared at her, his brows furrowed. “Well, you'd be taken in for surgery by one of the doctors,” he said. He bit back saying, “by me”, since he didn't know if he'd be available during this what if scenario. He couldn't ensure he'd be the one to do it, but he’d damn well try.
She frowned at his answer. “One of the doctors?” she repeated. “Not you?”
He drew in a deep breath. “It would depend on who is available,” he clarified. He made himself look busy, typing down his assessment of her for the day in her files. “I may not be at the time of your required surgery, or versed in the field you need done.”
She shook her head, and reached across the desk. She caught one of his scarred hands in her smooth one. His gaze darted to her at the contact, halting his typing. “Zayne,” she said, her voice grave, serious. Her eyes met his, and he knew she was about to speak from the heart, and that this is an entirely serious matter for her. He turned to fully face her, letting their fingers interlock together. “Zayne, I don't want any other doctor giving me surgery. I want you.”
Zayne’s eyes widened imperceptibly, and he brought his second over to hold hers with both of his. She continued, “Zayne, I want you to promise me that you'll be the one to work on me, if I ever need it.”
At the time, he knew he couldn't possibly promise that. There were too many factors and too many scenarios that could end up leading him to break that promise. He couldn't possibly ever uphold it. And yet, the way her callused hand fit between his, the way her eyes met his, the way she stared at him with such open trust made him pause before he could deny that promise.
The knowledge that they both hold about her life as a child, as being an experiment, weighed heavy over both of them. They both knew of how previous doctors had cut her open to explore her heart, to see how much she could take. He could see how that would make her wary of other doctors, and he
wouldn't have blamed her if she had become wary of him at all due to it.
And yet, here she is; placing all of her trust in his scarred hands. He almost didn't know what to do with this trust, this knowledge that she picked him over any other doctor. It was almost overwhelming. So he simply squeezed her hand with his, and leaned forward. Small lines of ice formed over both of their hands, not cold enough to hurt, but enough to be noticeable.
“I promise,” he murmured. “I won’t let any other doctor cut into you.”
That promise presses on him now, and he tightens his grip on the scalpel. He shakes his head, looking back down at Evie’s unconscious face. “No,” he grits out. “I will do it.”
Greyson frowns but doesn't press the matter when they both notice his hand slowing, stilling. Zayne takes a deep, steadying breath, his heart calming. He has to do this. He promised her.
So, after he’s calmed himself, he raises the scalpel to Evie’s chest. He angles it properly, and a hush falls over the room. He keeps his eyes locked on the starting point of the incision line, and starts the delicate process of slicing through her skin. He’ll have to start by cutting her skin and muscles apart, before he’ll have to use the saw to split her sternum in half. The thought makes him feel ill, but he pushes it aside, focusing on the task at hand.
He applies enough pressure to cut into the skin, and further to cut through muscle. The Floseal they had injected into her chest had quickly congealed in her blood, helping to ensure most of the blood wouldn't pour free. The blood that does flow is quickly wiped clean by a small nurse moving around Zayne with practiced ease, making sure that the red liquid doesn't stain the tarp she's wearing. Then, Malik moves forward with the cauterizing wire, sealing both sides of the professional cut to ensure that no more blood would pour out during the operation.
It’s a quick but daunting task, one that takes only a few minutes but feels like an eternity. It's a delicate process, one that Zayne focuses on intently. He’s glad for the nurse’s practice with maneuvering around a busy doctor’s arms, because if she hadn't been thoroughly taught, she’d have bumped into him and ruined the incision. He shudders at the horrid thought.
The sharp scent of copper attacks Zayne's nose, and he glances to the side when Greyson holds out the sternal saw. He trades it with the microscalpel, keeping in mind what he’s about to do is on Evie. He avoids looking at her face as much as possible, because if he looked at her, he’d freeze up all over again. Her chest is currently sliced open, her skin and muscle pulled apart like a banana peel from the fruit. It's a sickening sight to see with the person you love, so he refuses to glance at her face as he holds the sternal saw in hand. Doctor Malik uses a biovac to suction the blood from Evie’s sternum bone, and Greyson uses another sponge to soak up the remnants to make it clearer for Zayne to see.
The saw buzzes loudly, the high pitched screech filling the room. He keeps his eyes locked on the open chest, trying his best not to think of who it belongs to. He lowers the blade towards her bare sternum while Malik holds one side of her skin, and Greyson holds the other, making sure that he can clearly see.
Bone dust explodes into the air as soon as the blade touches Evie’s sternum. He starts off on the lower setting, and as he cuts through the first layer, he heightens the speed and presses down harder. The sound of bone cracking follows along the screeching of the saw, and then her sternum splits in half. He moves his hands out of the way the instant it's apart, grabbing the nearby sternal retractor as his fellow doctors hold both sides of the sternum open. They have to strain against all of Evie’s natural muscle, to ensure that it doesn't close completely so that Zayne can line up the retractor correctly. Once he has it in place, he carefully uses it to further split her ribs open.
Through all of this, the oxygen mask remains in place, keeping Evie’s breaths steady and her heart pumping. Luckily, with this surgery process, Zayne won't be needing to connect her heart to the CPB machine. He doesn't need to truly cut into her heart, so they can remain in an off-pump surgery. That's a relief, because he's not sure if he could stand seeing her heart stop, even if they were keeping her alive. He tries not to think about that, just as he tries not to think about how he just cracked her open, exposing her most vulnerable parts to the world to see.
He fails at this, however. His eyes drift to Evie’s face for just a moment- a moment too long- and he feels himself grow sick. He has to fight to keep down his own stomach acids, his organ trying to betray him.
Her face is so pale, her lips too blue. He can see the way her lungs are expanding and retracting, can hear how fast her heart is racing, and he can see how vulnerable she truly is. He closes his eyes tightly, drawing in shaky breaths. He never wanted to see her like this. He absolutely despises seeing her like this.
“Doctor Zayne,” Greyson says, drawing him back to the here and now. “We have the retractor in place. Her EKG is currently steady at one hundred eleven. It's the lowest it's been since she was indicted her yesterday.”
“Inject her with protothesia,” Zayne hears himself saying. Greyson nods in response, and moves to do just as he was ordered.
Zayne watches Greyson fill the syringe with the necessary medicine and then inject it directly into Evie’s neck. This would help the medicine spread faster into the chest cavity. “Angle the lights to forty-five degrees,” Zayne says next. The nurses do so, and he leans in closer, looking around and under her left lung to see the protocore snuggled beneath her heart. It glows a faint whitish-yellow, mirroring the color of her Evol.
“I'm going to treat this as an A-Fib operation,” Zayne informs the others once he's seen what he needs to see. “However, we will not stop the heart, as I will not have to perform cox-maze scarring. I will simply move the protocore, and then we will follow up with general defibrillation.”
“I'll grab the protoceps,” Greyson says. Zayne nods, and takes the tool once it's handed to him. He also takes a set of forceps. Doctor Malik keeps a hold on the suction tube, standing at the ready in case any blood pools in the chest cavity.
Zayne leans further forward, taking one moment to watch Evie’s heart beat erratically. The protothesia they'd injected brought the protocore’s pulse rate down by a few notches, helping to ease the stress on the heart, allowing it to slow in its own racing pace. That's reassuring to see.
“Greyson, hold the lung towards yourself,” Zayne instructs. Greyson nods, using one of their various tools to gingerly do as told. Once the lung has been shifted, Zayne reaches into her chest cavity. Using the forceps, he very carefully pushes Evie’s heart over an inch, further revealing the protocore behind it. He can see the exact angle it's leaned forward, and hear the uneven pulse it's releasing from within. The tip of it has been digging into her atrium muscle, embedding itself in the very top of its tissue. He frowns, and uses his other hand to carefully grasp the protocore with the protoceps.
He has to move it slowly- if he reangles it too quickly, then it could rip through her heart tissue, which would cause an entire array of problems. So, with full concentration and care, Zayne urges the protocore to move, gently pulling it from its uneven positioning.
As he does, he notices how her heart has started to slow. He freezes, eyes darting to stare at the precious organ. “Greyson,” he says. “What is her EKG?”
“It’s plummeted,” Greyson informs him, confirming his fear. “Went from one hundred and eleven straight to eighty beats.”
“Is she struggling to breathe?” Zayne asks next, his hands not moving even an inch.
“She’s not showing signs of stress,” Greyson replies.
Zayne grits his teeth, eyes darting back to the protocore. He has to move slower. He has to move agonizingly slow. If he doesn't, then her heart rate will drop further. He can’t allow that. But he also can't allow the protocore to stay in place, or she could suffer a heart attack.
Of course she has to stress him out this much. It's only like her to.
“Have the internal defibrillator on standby,” Zayne says, feeling his entire body tensing. “Her heart could stop any moment.”
Greyson relays Zayne's instructions to the nurses and they scramble about to fulfill them. Once they have everything ready, Greyson nods to Zayne. Zayne nods in response, and his gaze returns to his current task. He hasn't moved his hands once, keeping the tools steady and in place despite how his forearms are beginning to burn from being held in place for so long.
As soon as he has the confirmation things are ready, he begins to once more delicately shift the protocore. He urges it backwards from her heart’s atrium, as if it's the most fragile thing in the world. And to him, it is. Her heart has always been special to him, something he needs to protect. Ever since they were younger, he knew how fragile her heart truly is. It's the exact reason he became a doctor; to protect her precious heart. He'd become obsessed with perfecting his work just so he’d be able to keep her heart stable, and to ensure it would remain strong.
The moment she came looking for a cardiologist, he stepped forward to Yvonne, requesting she be sent to his office. She had already sent in a request for him herself a few months prior, but because of his long waiting list, she wouldn't get a response from his reception for months more. But when he saw her name, he'd cleared space for her as soon as he could. He was desperate to check up on her again- to make sure that her heart was remaining strong. He didn't trust anyone else with her heart. Only himself. He practiced different scenarios in simulations mirroring her exact heart conditions in case of moments like these. He knows how delicate her heart is, which is why he's glad he was called the moment they found that her problem had something to do with her protocore.
In truth, Zayne considers her heart his life’s work. He’d studied hearts just like it his entire school and work career for her specifically.
Zayne manages to shift the protocore back to its original positioning, letting out a breath of relief as he does so. “Protocore is back in its original position,” he informs the rest of the room. “I'm going to look over her heart once more, and then close her up-”
His words halt the moment her heart suddenly stops.
His breath catches in his throat at the sight of it going still, and he’s reaching in instantly. He wraps his fingers around her heart gingerly, squeezing it just enough to urge it to restart. He massages it methodically, eyes narrowed as he focuses on getting to start again. He doesn't stop to think, doesn't allow himself to pause because her heart has stopped. It's not supposed to stop, it's supposed to be strong. If he stops to think at all, he’d be sent into a panic. He can already feel himself growing dizzy with fear, the skin of his back crackling as a thin sheen of ice spreads over its surface.
He squeezes her heart in the proper timing, long fingers finding the right places to press. He goes in the proper rhythm of a healthy heart, urging it to restart before using the defibrillator. Her heart stutters in his hand, as if trying to beat on its own, but it stops once more. She’s trying. She’s holding on. And he’s going to help her come back.
After her heart has stopped once more, Zayne grits his teeth and reaches up, carefully removing his hand from her precious heart. Greyson meets his hands with the internal defibrillator, and Zayne rubs the paddles together, preparing to directly shock her heart. “It's set to ten joules already,” Greyson informs him. Zayne hardly registers his words before he makes contact with her heart.
“Give her a shot of adrenaline,” Zayne orders loudly, his voice cracking and shaking. He’s trying to keep his composure, but he can't. Not in this situation.
He recalls the files he’d read of the experiments she’d gone through as a child. He knows she’d be back, but he doesn't know that for sure. What if her last death with them was just that- her last? What if she doesn't have any more “do overs”? What if she doesn't revive with him, and is reborn? What then? He can’t wait for that. He’d essentially lose her if that happened, and it wouldn't matter that she’s reincarnated, because the world is so big. And even if she did revive, would she remember him? He knows how much memory she loses with every death- hell, she hardly remembers the special memories he holds close to his heart from their shared childhood. He could never blame her for that. But if she dies now and then revives, who's to say she won't forget their most important memories together recently? Who's to say she’ll even remember him?
That can’t happen. It may be selfish of him to cling to her like this, but he can’t lose her.
He shakes his head, forcing himself to refocus.
Her heart stutters a second time, and beats unsteadily. Zayne doesn't move, his eyes locked on the most important organ in the world. He doesn’t relax yet- it stopped twice, what’s to say it won't stop a third?
His fear is confirmed when it goes still again. He brings the defibrillators together again, recharging them. Her body jolts again when the electricity courses through her. His eyes remain locked on her heart, waiting for it to start again. When it doesn't, he shocks it once more. A fourth time. A fifth. Her body continues to jolt, the heart monitor continues to flatline, and her heart continues to remain still.
“No no no no no-”
He doesn't even register that he’s speaking, or that he’s moving manically until a hand finds his shoulder. He jumps, eyes darting to the side wildly. Greyson quickly removes his hand, shaking it to try and rid himself of the ice that has covered his skin.
“Zayne,” Greyson says gravely. Zayne's eyes narrow at the sound of it, and he tears his eyes away, looking back down at Evie’s wide open chest. “I don't think-”
“Raise the joules,” Zayne orders. Greyson doesn't move, and his eye twitches. His voice raises, “Greyson- move!”
Greyson flinches at the volume of Zayne’s voice, but he doesn't move towards the defibrillator. Instead, he shakes his head, his eyes filled with tears, his chest expanding and relaxing too fast for a regular breathing rhythm. “Zayne,” he says again, his voice cracking. “It's not working.”
Letting out what sounds like a growl, Zayne looks around the room at the nurses gathered. “Raise the joules!” he shouts. The nurses look amongst one another, but don't move. “We have to keep going! Her heart hasn't started!”
“Time of death,” Doctor Malik says from the other side of the operating table. She stares at her watch, letting out a sharp breath. “Three fifteen am. Cause of death: heart failure.”
“She’s not dead,” Zayne snaps. He goes to the defibrillator machine himself, turning the voltage up higher. “We just have to keep going- help me goddammit!”
Greyson doesn't move. The nurses don't move. Malik doesn't move.
So Zayne moves himself.
He recharges the defibrillator and shocks Evie’s heart once more. Twice more. Thrice more. Her heart doesn't start. Her body merely twitches now in response to the electricity. Zayne’s body is shaking, his breaths tearing through his throat and lungs sharply. His arms are beginning to be covered in ice, his legs shaking heavily under him.
He looks at Evie’s face, and feels sick all over again. Her face is fully pale, devoid of any blood. Her lips are parted but unmoving, and breath no longer fogs the inside of her oxygen mask.
She’s not breathing. She hasn't in the past ten minutes. Her heart isn't beating. It hasn’t in the past twelve minutes.
She’s de-
“No!”
Zayne’s throat tears as he screams, snow bursting out from his body. A powerful wind that hadn't been there before tears around the room, snow and ice spreading across the floor and walls in seconds, freezing the place over. In no time at all, almost the entire operating room has become a tundra. Nurses scream and Greyson stumbles as snow covers them from head to toe, trembling due to their lack of protective clothing.
“Zayne!” Greyson shouts over the howl winds, but Zayne ignores him. Instead, he collapses onto his knees beside the operating table, his scarred hands gripping onto Evie’s arm tightly. “Zayne!” One of the nurses grabs Greyson, dragging him back and out of the room before he becomes frozen entirely.
His breath comes out in thick clouds as he clings onto Evie’s arm. His heart is racing- as if trying to beat for both himself and his beloved. It's not enough, though. Of course it's not. How could it be? She's dea-
A sob cuts through Zayne. It comes out in a pathetic, strangled noise, covered up by the winds surrounding him. The only part of the room untouched by the cold storm is the operating table, which remains uncovered. “Why did you give up?” he asks aloud, gripping her tighter. “Why? I almost had you. You were going to be okay.”
His shoulders shake as tears slide free from his eyes, leaving icy trails along the curves of his cheeks. “Why did you have to be a hunter?” he asks her corpse. “I told you not to. I told you this would happen. Why didn't you listen?”
If she hadn't been a hunter, this would have never happened. A Wanderer wouldn't have hit her in the worst angle, knocking her protocore into her fragile heart. She wouldn't have ended up in surgery. She wouldn't have ended up being failed by Zayne. She would have been okay.
The storm around them continues to rage on, the sound of ice spreading and hardening on the walls around him loud. He sobs uncontrollably, feeling as if his own heart had been ripped from his chest. He could hardly breathe, could hardly even think of anything else but the corpse his beloved lying still in front of him, her chest remaining open.
He can’t stop the scream from escaping him, splitting through the air like a sharp whip. He sounds like a dying animal. He may as well be one.
He’d failed her.
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