Medic -

"I’m sorry," Elias said, pulling up a stool. "Tell me more about his clocks."

For the first time in his shift, Elias stopped. He looked at the man's hands—calloused and stained with faint traces of oil at the cuticles, despite days in a sterile bed. He wasn't just a failing heart; he was a craftsman who understood the intricate ticking of gears. "I’m sorry," Elias said, pulling up a stool

To Elias, the man in the bed was a collection of numbers. Blood pressure: 95/60. Oxygen: 91%. The plan was simple: maintain stability and wait for a donor that might never come. Elias began to adjust the IV drip, his mind already drifting to the next chart. " Elias said