Antonio’s expression remained cold and unreadable as the torrent of insults and discouragement from the doctors rolled over him like water against stone. He ignored their shouting, their jeers, and their warnings about risking Florence’s life. He moved closer to Florence and carefully adjusted her head, tilting it slightly to better assess her condition. He studied her face, noting the pale tinge of blue around her lips, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, and the labored pulse in her neck. His fingers pressed lightly against her wrist, measuring the rhythm and strength of her pulse. He then traced her temples, feeling the faint heat radiating from her feverish body. Everything told him that time was slipping away and that every second counted. After a long period of meticulous assessment, Antonio withdrew a small container from his bag. It was unassuming with its exterior covered with a rough brown wrapping. Inside, the substance looked like clay, dry and gr

The doctors standing around Florence’s bed exchanged uneasy glances. One by one, their faces drained of color with the reality of what was happening finally sinking in. Florence’s chest rose and fell unevenly and her pulse fluttered weakly beneath the nurse’s trembling fingers. The beeping machines sounded like death tolls, with every irregular rhythm echoing through the sterile air. Antonio’s words had been dismissed as meddling arrogance. After all, what did he know compared to their collective years of medical practice? Yet now, watching Florence’s condition worsen by the second, they realized the cost of their defiance. Antonio had told them not to administer the medication. He had even warned them of the possible outcome. But pride and a deep distrust of him made them ignore his counsel. Now Florence’s body was shutting down, and guilt hung in the air like a suffocating fog. The security team, having been summoned earlier because Antonio was deemed disrupti