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Summary
When Zandik finally glanced up at Feofan, the weight of a dozen deaths, reflected in eyes shaded by exhaustion. The cold, still air in the darkest hours of the morning took the life out of his face—colorless skin, from exposure to frost, accentuated the deep lightless crimson of his eyes. Hollowness that barely suited his usually rigidly collected demeanor. Not a tear would ever spill from eyes so empty, but the sheer magnitude of his misery made him… inexplicably…
Beautiful.
A terrible medical emergency comes with all the consequences of acting as a Doctor, and Feofan witnesses them first hand.