Ryan exhaled slowly, his calm demeanor a sharp contrast to the panic swirling around the room. His gaze settled on Esme, bound tightly to the bed, her face contorted in agony. He rubbed his palms together before speaking, his voice low, "It's okay. She's not going to die… maybe."
The room fell silent for a heartbeat, everyone snapping their eyes toward him in disbelief. Aron, who had been pacing furiously near the door, stopped dead in his tracks. His face darkened, frustration evident in every line of his body as he stalked toward Ryan. "What the hell do you mean maybe?" Aron's voice was loud, edged with anger and disbelief. "You're a doctor, Ryan! You can't just say maybe."
Ryan stood his ground, his expression unwavering, though a muscle in his jaw twitched. "I said, she's not going to die," he repeated, his tone firm but devoid of panic. Yet, the uncertainty still hung in the air, tangible, impossible to ignore.
