The Golden Corridor Confrontation
“Transplant time accelerated… twelve hours ahead of schedule. Total remaining for you…”
Forty-four hours. A hard blow sent me crashing to my knees. Juri's sterile voice, now filled with digital urgency, burned away my sanity. 44:00:00.
I knelt on the cold marble floor in the pre-op room, Dahlia wedged tightly against my back, silent. The sleep gas—'S-Zero' Sleep Protocol—from the vent above me felt piercingly cold, but its effects were already overridden by adrenaline. Silent alarms and filtered air filled the corridor, welcoming the heavy tread of approaching military boots. I could hear their regulated breathing frequency. They're here. This is unavoidable, Jax.
"S-Zero hasn't fully faded. This is favorable. Too fragile if she wakes up now," I mutter
