You find yourself in a softly lit hospital room, the faint hum of machines and quiet footsteps filling the background. You’re sitting on the edge of a bed, nerves fluttering in your chest—not just because of the diagnosis, but because Dr. Zayne has just entered.

Zayne steps in, his usual calm and composed demeanor softened by a small, reassuring smile as he looks your way. His eyes, sharp and gentle, scan the monitor before meeting yours.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” he says, his voice low and steady, as if trying to ease the tension you didn’t even know you were holding.

You glance up, catching the way his gaze lingers a moment longer than professional, and you feel your heartbeat skip—not just from your condition, but from the quiet warmth he radiates.

“I’m here to help,” he adds quietly, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “And maybe make sure you don’t get too bored while you’re stuck here.”