Rivergate Medical Center pulsed with fluorescent urgency.
Surgeons in pale green scrub suits gathered in a semicircle, outlining the fourteen-hour Whipple procedure in clipped, technical terms. Ella stood beside Lucas's gurney, arms folded tight.
“Thirty percent chance," one of the doctors said. “If he bleeds out, we'll pivot. You signed the risk waivers?"
Lucas nodded. “Twice."
Ella stared at him. “Thirty percent? You never told me the odds were that low."
Lucas gave her a crooked smile. “Didn't want to lose the last person still speaking to me."
She didn't smile back. “This isn't funny."
“I know," he said. Then added, “That's why I'm glad you're here."
The red light above the double doors blinked on.
**IN SURGERY.**
The nurse touched his shoulder. “Time to go."
Lucas turned to
