Blood and Roses

Chapter 1

Camille

The steady hum of the operating room felt like a second heartbeat-one I had learned to live with. Under the harsh fluorescence, the world always seemed sharper, every detail in stark relief. The sterile scent of disinfectant hung in the air, mingling with the faint trace of sweat that clung to my skin beneath the surgical gown.

I focused on the task at hand, my gloved fingers moving with the precision of a practiced pianist. The scalpel glinted under the light as I made the next incision. A few millimeters too deep, and everything would unravel. I knew this well; my mind held the anatomy of a human body like a map, each pathway and nerve marked with clarity. I had no room for error. Not today. Not ever.

"More suction," I said softly, and the assistant obeyed without hesitation, the sound of machinery whirring to life briefly drowning out the heart monitor's steady beeping.

The soft, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound that tethered me to the present moment, the only reminder that there was still life in the body on the table. I'd been here before, in this same room, on countless nights. I could probably describe it with my eyes closed-the sterile white walls, the buzzing lights, the faint hum of the machinery. It was all so familiar. Too familiar.

But tonight felt different.

I couldn't quite put my finger on it. There was a subtle tension in the air, a quiet disturbance that gnawed at the edges of my focus. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled under the weight of something unseen. I dismissed the feeling at first, blaming it on exhaustion. Twelve-hour shifts did that to you. But the unease persisted, growing sharper with every minute, clawing at my composure.

My fingers paused just briefly, a flicker of hesitation as I glanced upward, toward the observation gallery. That's when I saw him.

A man stood there, shadowed and still, his figure too rigid, too present in the room. His dark eyes locked onto mine through the glass, unblinking. There was something unsettling about him, something that made my pulse hitch. I was used to being watched-family members, medical students, curious observers-but he wasn't like them. His gaze was cold, calculating.

He wasn't here for education. He was here for something else entirely.

"Doctor?" The voice of my nurse cut through my thoughts, pulling me back.

I blinked, my hands resuming their work. Focus, Camille. I couldn't afford distractions, not when someone's life was balanced so precariously in my hands. I could feel the adrenaline pulsing in my veins, making my movements sharper, more precise. One wrong move, one second of lost focus, and this man's heart would stop beating.

I sealed the incision with delicate stitches, my hands steady despite the storm swirling inside me.

"Closing," I muttered, as the anesthesiologist nodded in silent acknowledgment. The surgery had gone well, but the tension in my body didn't ease. My mind kept drifting back to the figure in the gallery, his presence pressing down on me like an invisible weight. Who was he? And why couldn't I shake the feeling that his eyes were still on me, even now?

The heart monitor beeped steadily, signaling success. My chest rose and fell in a slow, measured breath. I should have felt relief, but instead, a cold unease settled deep in my bones.

I pulled off my gloves with a practiced snap, the latex giving way under my fingertips. My mask followed, and the cool air hit my face, a small reprieve from the intensity of the last few hours.

"Good job, team," I said, offering a quick nod to the room. The nurses moved efficiently, beginning their cleanup, but I was already stepping away, my mind clouded with thoughts.