Miguel POV
The sound of the flatline still echoed in my ears.
Everything seemed distant—the frantic voices, the beeping monitors, the rush of medical staff around Diego's bed. All I could focus on was his pale face, lifeless and still.
A firm hand gripped my shoulder, breaking me out of my haze.
It was the doctor. His face was serious, his eyes sharp with urgency.
"We don't have time, Miguel. I need consent for emergency surgery. Now."
I blinked, my mind sluggish. "What—what do you mean surgery?"
The doctor's voice stayed calm but unrelenting.
"The implant. It's interfering with his vitals. If we don't remove it immediately, he won't make it. We've prepped OR-1. You need to sign these forms."
A clipboard was pressed into my shaking hands, the medical jargon blurring together.
Beside me, my father took a step closer. "I'll sign. He's my son—"
I shook my head sharply.
