Now her friend would die from her being unguarded. They planned to snipe her to get vengeance for what the Prowlers had done to the other wizards. She underestimated the backup plan the captain had put aside in case of any emergencies. Kate thought the illegal trading undercover was just reckless and unplanned.
No, she was the one who was unplanned and reckless on this mission.
Kate appeared in the Archangel’s office, her heart aching with dread at how he would react, but also pained by what her friend had done to save her; pained by what her friend suffered because of her careless mistake.
The Archangel was nowhere to be found. The roaring thoughts in her mind could not penetrate the silence, cutting deeper into Kate’s heart than any blade could. She pulled Sara into her lap, bending down into a screaming sob.
Where was Michael when she needed him?
Why would Sara take the bullet for her?
She couldn’t understand anymore. Her thoughts ran wild, and her heart clutched so tightly that it might burst any minute. The mission had been going smoothly until those wizards had to ruin everything.
"Please, Sara,” rasped Kate, her hand shaking as she cupped her friend’s head into her arms. Fat tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks as she rocked back and forth, unable to leave Sara’s side.
They had bickered a little there and here and didn’t always agree on certain things, but they were like siblings. She whispered, “I love you, Sara. Please don’t leave me. It’s us against the world. You can’t leave me here all alone. You promised you to stay by my side.”
Kate grabbed her phone, her hands red from the blood on Sara’s head. She couldn’t waste anymore time and mingled around, crying her heart out. She understood why she took that damn bullet for her—because Sara loved her. There was no other explanation for her friend’s stupid move.
The Prowlers had learned to follow their brain, not their heart when they made critical decisions.
The door opened, and Kate jerked her head to see Michael walk in. His golden eyes snapped from seeing Kate’s wrenched gaze and his daughter lying on the ground, barely breathing and not moving. He rushed to Sara, grabbing her away from Kate and taking her in his arms.
Michael stared at the blood drenching Sara’s head and falling to the floor like raindrops. His knees almost buckled as he squeezed her. He questioned, his eyes distant, “Katerina, why did you not call me?”
“I was about to,” Kate answered weakly, swallowing a hard lump of emotions down her throat. She had never seen him look so frightened in her life.
“What happened? Where’s Timothy and Nathan?” He then shook his head. “No, there’s no time.” The Archangel got to his feet, looking down at his daughter, who was not responding. “Sara?”
“Someone wanted to snipe me,” Kate began, wanting to start over in an ugly cry, “but she shoved me aside, and the bullet hit her before she could...get out of the way.” Tears came again, and Kate couldn’t bear to watch her boss’s stunned expression.
Michael slowly turned around with Sara limp in his arms, too shocked to be angry at her. Afraid to lose precious time, he disappeared and left her in the office.
He sprang into action, distant from the world around him—not yet sinking into what occurred. However, the deadweight from Sara reminded him, trepidation shuddering through him like a nasty fever.
Michael plowed through the hospital doors, where the surgery area was. He glanced up to see Choirs, nurses, and doctors staring at him ghastly. Their eyes trailed down toward his daughter. “Don’t just stand there,” commanded Michael harshly, mustering all his worth to hold himself together. “Help my daughter!”
A surgeon walked out of a surgery he had just performed and heard the Archangel’s plea. He blinked only once and replied coolly with a calm countenance, “Come with me, sir.” He motioned his head for the surgical assistants, nurses, and technologists to follow him.
They passed through doors fast like a demon was on their heels—no, more like a girl’s life depended on them. “Put her on the table,” the surgeon ordered, the only one not rushing and remaining chilled about the whole situation. He let his assistants put on his surgical blue outfit and gloves. “Prep her up.” Then he walked over to the sink to scrub his hands.
A nurse came over to the Archangel, Michael imploring Sara even though she couldn’t hear, “You are strong.” His hands were on the table, as he had looked so grim before. “Be honest, doctor, is she going to live?”
The surgeon only hesitated for the briefest second, but he was more in his zone, and Michael found the hesitation to be a bad sign. “Doctor, do what you have to save her.”
Scrubbing his hands, the doctor nodded confidently. “She will be fine; I’ve seen worse.” Although he had no idea what wound she had yet, the condition she was in looked frightening to everyone else. Yet, the surgeon had seen intestines barely in one’s stomach, faces chopped in half, or no skin could be found on the body, just glistening tissues in cold air, and the patient screaming in pain. At least, this girl was unconscious.
Michael wanted to yell at him to do better at his job and explain how he could be so calm, but a nurse pushed him out of the operating room. She muttered, “Sir, you need to go into the waiting room. You being with her will only slow down the process.”
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Baring down on the nurse, he made her feel like an ant. He threatened, “Tell Dr. Pratt if he doesn’t save her, I will never forgive him.”
The nurse swayed her head up and down like a bobblehead. “I will.” She dashed away from him, not going to tell the doctor anything. She knew Michael was underwhelmed, and he didn’t mean that. However, that didn’t make her feel a surge of fear—what if they failed to save his daughter?
She emerged back onto the operation table, staring at the assistants stripping away the assassin’s clothing. Dr. Pratt cautiously looked for what caused her to be unconscious. Most of the blood lost covered Sara’s face, so he searched there, seeing a bullet in her head.
His heart froze for a split second, wondering how the heck this girl was alive. He exhaled heavily in his mask when he realized the bullet was stuck in her skull. The tip barely broke through the bone, and most of the shiny ammo jetted out of her head. Somehow, her body blocked it from doing any more damage to her brain.
Wiping sweat from his forehead and calming his heart, the surgeon hummed and asked, “Forceps bullet extractor.” He opened his hands, and his assistant placed them in his palms. You’re a lucky girl. What are you doing with a bullet in your head?
He couldn’t have the bullet magically disappear and heal her with magic. If someone had healed her, the Prowler’s skin would’ve closed around it and caused worse damage than before. He wondered how long this surgery would take, but he was confident in his skills and not fazed in the slightest.
With a heavy sigh, Dr. Pratt cleaned the wounded area and clamped the forceps onto the bullet, about to yank it from her head when he heard his nurse ask, “Sir if due respect, aren’t you supposed to check the fracture stability?”
Dr. Pratt muttered as his eyes skimmed over Sara’s head. “Do not worry, I am the best doctor.”
“Is that purple smoke I see?” asked an assistant, his glasses foggy from breathing so hard with worry for the Prowler.
“Not to brag…” a man’s voice echoed, “I’m the best doctor in the world.” Lavender eyes slanted down, and Thomas Pitch sneered, “It seems your assistant knows better than you.”
The surgeon’s heart lurched in panic at why the infamous High-warlock would be in this particular surgery room and his reason. He stammered, “Excuse me, but what are you doing in here?” There were millions of thoughts racing about what to say, but he had a patient on the table and couldn’t chat-chit, although he wouldn’t let his ego be shattered by this brat telling him he was not the best.
With a shake of his head, Dr. Pratt snarled through clenched teeth, “I am the best doctor; you need to get out!” He should’ve called the Choirs to arrest the High-warlock, but instead focused on his ego being taken apart like a careful dissection.
Pitch only had to look at what the so-called ‘best doctor’ was doing and realize the negligence he was performing on his patient. “If you take out the bullet without examining its pressure, the excessive blood lost she could have would leave her to death, or the worst-case scenario from not looking is an expanding, rapidly developing brain edema—”
“I know all of that!” shattered Dr. Pratt. He glared at this man, accusing him of being a careless surgeon, and said he would not have that in front of his staff. Face red and a grimace snarl, he shouted, “Get out, or I’ll report you right now to the Choirs!” He looked back at the assassin on the table, and his hands shook with rage, the forceps shaking.
The glare from the High-warlock caused sweat to roll down his forehead, and he glanced at Sara’s swelling where the bullet was and knew that if he hadn’t looked—The Archangel’s daughter may have been dead on his table.
However, Dr. Pratt swallowed silently at this man being right, but he wasn’t going to admit his fault. Before he could make a move to extract the bullet from her head, Pitch raised his hands, which caused the surgeon to freeze.
Everyone thought he was going to do something with his powers—yet he wasn’t dumb enough to do that because his frisson would be sensed everywhere in the Celestial Realm.
Pitch looked at the stricken staff and didn’t want to waste anymore time. “Do you want a surgeon who is careless about a patient and rushes to get the surgery done so he can brag that he didn’t break a sweat from saving the Archangel’s daughter to boast his tiny ego, or would you rather have a doctor that actually cares who’s on the table and knows what he is doing?”
The staff blinked at the infamous warlock, and their hearts pounded in fear—but they knew his reputation for always doing well for everyone he performed doctorate work on—and they knew he never once bragged about saving lives. They glanced at each other and stepped forward.
“We will help,” an anesthetist said. The surgical team couldn’t be cowards and had been more on edge than with a villain cutting in. Taking steps forward, the rest nodded their heads and sided with one of the Harmonies’ worst enemies.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse squeaked, who escorted Michael out. She got gloves and surgical masks and put them on Pitch, who had already washed his hands near the sink beforehand with no one noticing.
Standing dumbfounded his staff quickly dressed the other doctor. When another nurse tried to push him away so Pitch could replace him, Dr. Pratt refused to budge.
Dr. Pratt snapped, “This is wrong! You can’t do this! This is my patient!”
“If you weren’t an egotist and actually wanted to help, then we wouldn’t be having this problem,” Pitch replied calmly, and he saw the rest of the nurses prying him out of the room. Before the sloppy surgery was forced out, Pitch raised his head and scoffed, "Even though it seems your staff hates you.”
Looking up at his new helpers, he said, “Are you ready to save her?” His helpers nodded, and the fear diminished, only thinking to perform their absolute best.
Then he turned his attention to Sara and, sadly, smiled at her. Adrenaline coursed through him, and he wondered if Sara was an extremely lucky person, either the amination’s tip dulled, or something else entirely…something so powerful.
Who is she?
Galas have been shot in the head and survived, but only a few were lucky enough to not have died or powerful enough to not take damage.
A question to answer later…
Right now, he had more important tasks—literally at hand. Even with the bullet in Sara’s flesh and not through bone, that didn’t mean that the surgery wouldn’t be a tough one to perform.
Thomas Pitch whispered to the unconscious girl who had freed him from the clutches of death nine years ago. It was his turn to return the favor. “We are even now.” He had to let go of her; he was an Infernal and she was Harmony, and more so, the Archangel’s daughter.
Each side was so twisted and warped, even Pitch had to admit that. Sara and him could've been friends, great ones with both fashionable people; however, that would be impossible. Although Sara touched a special spot in his heart, he pondered, while performing the surgery, if he would’ve been a better father than Michael.