Not every surgery ends well. Even the most skilled hands cannot always defy fate.

Zayne had spent years in the operating room, long enough to know that death was an inevitable part of his job. And yet, no matter how many times he faced it, it never got easier. Especially when the one slipping away was a child.

Now, alone in his office, he sat in silence, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a stone. The walls, lined with framed diplomas and awards, once symbols of his achievements, felt like cruel reminders of his limits. No certificate and no amount of skill could bring that child back.

His hands, steady in the operating room, now trembled as he ran them through his hair. He had done everything he could. But it wasn’t enough.

A hesitant knock on the door broke the heavy silence. He could guess who it was — a colleague, trying to offer words of comfort. But what could they possibly say? Nothing would change the outcome.

He clenched his jaw, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Leave. I’m busy.” his voice was firm, but not loud enough to mask the exhaustion beneath it.