IV, a spreading heaviness that pinned my arms and legs without fully turning the lights off. My eyelids drooped, vision tunneling, but my mind stayed awake. Alert. Trapped.
That’s when I heard the surgeon’s voice.
Dr. Julian Mercer.
Low. Controlled. Careful.
“Lindsay,” he murmured, somewhere near my right side. “The envelope. Make sure his wife gets it continue reading …
