Still fighting.
"I'm going to remove the knife," Reynolds announces, examining the wound. "There's going to be significant bleeding when I do. Aesir, I need you ready with pressure and cauterization if necessary. Gwen, monitor his vitals. Call out any changes immediately."
Everyone moves into position.
I press myself harder against the wall, making myself as small as possible and Vail stands beside me, both of us trying to stay out of the way.
Trying not to scream.
"Here we go," Reynolds says.
He grips the knife handle.
Takes a breath.
Pulls.
Gunnar's body arches off the table, a scream tearing from his throat even in unconsciousness.
The sound will haunt me forever.
Raw.
Primal.
Full of agony.
Blood—so much blood—pours from the wound.
"Pressure! Now!"
Aesir moves in, hands pressing gauze into the wound.
The white fabric turns red immediately.
Soaked through in seconds.
Reynolds works with quick, efficient movements—stitching, cauterizing, doing things I can't see but can hear.
The wet sounds of surgery.
The hiss of medical equipment.
Gunnar's labored breathing.
I can't look away.
Can't close my eyes.
This might be the last time I see him alive.
I won't miss a second of it.
Time becomes meaningless.
Minutes or hours, I don't know.
Just the endless cycle of Reynolds working, Gwen calling out vitals, Aesir assisting.
