The appearance of Gordon Whitfield didn’t just break the silence; it shattered the reality of everyone standing in the VIP corridor of Riverbend General Hospital. The air in the hallway, once thick with the stagnant scent of despair and ozone, seemed to suddenly vibrate with a renewed, electric energy.
When Marcus Hartwell lifted his head and saw the man standing before him, his breath hitched so sharply it sounded like a sob. He felt a cold sweat break out across his back, and his knees, already weak from the night’s trauma, nearly gave out.
"Grand Master... Gordon Whitfield?" Hartwell’s voice was a pathetic, high-pitched squeak.
As a veteran of the medical world, Hartwell knew that face. He had seen it on the covers of the most prestigious journals from the Grand Hall of Medicine. He
