The Next Morning

  Knock, knock.

  “Come in,” Seven called, his voice slightly winded.

  The door swung open to reveal a small group, who promptly froze. The sight before them could’ve been a scene ripped from an action film: Seven, shirtless, inverted in a perfect handstand, knocking out push-ups with mechanical precision. Each rep carved fresh lines across his torso, muscles taut and gleaming under the room’s soft light. His arms flexed with effortless control, his body unwavering despite the strain; he looked entirely at home upside down.

  “Give me a minute,” he mouthed, his breath unlabored by exertion. After five more push-ups, he flipped onto his feet in one fluid motion, composed, almost feline. A slow exhale escaped as he swiped away the fine sheen of sweat from his brow, his sharp edges softening when he faced the newcomers.

  “Good morning, Nate,” he greeted with an easy smile.

  Nathan Gill smirked, amused by the unexpected spectacle. “Morning, Sev. Thanks for taking on Mr. Porter’s surgery.”

  Seven nodded, his tone shifting instantly to business. “It’s not a problem. What’s the latest on the patient’s condition?”

  Nathan scanned his clipboard. “Vitals are stable. Surgery’s scheduled for 1000 hours in OR 5. Two of my colleagues and I worked on him previously; we’re eager to assist and pick up a few tricks from you today.”

  Seven reached into his duffel, retrieved several items, and handed them over. “I’ll need these for the surgery. Make sure the surgical tech receives them. I’ll scrub in around 9:30. Does that work for you?”

  “Absolutely,” Nathan said, accepting the items. His stride carried a note of excitement as he left the room.

  After he exited, Lara stepped forward, flanked by two uniformed bodyguards. “Morning, Seven. They are Barry and Fletcher. They’re on until 9 p.m. Gregory and Kai will relieve them tonight.”

  Seven’s attention shifted to the men, his tone clipped. “Morning. I’ll be in surgery for about six hours. No one enters except family. No exceptions, unless it’s a medical emergency. Lara, you’ll monitor the staff. If anything looks off, you know what to do.”

  The trio responded in unison, “Understood, Colonel.”

  Seven continued, voice steady but commanding, “Barry, Fletcher, if either of you has to step away, the other stays put. Notify Lara before leaving your post. Same protocol for Gregory and Kai.”

  “Yes, Colonel,” they echoed before heading to their positions.

  Turning back to Lara, Seven added, “I need to brief you. Walk with me.”

  He crossed to the bed where Sana lay breathing steadily, her lashes fanned like ink strokes against her cheeks. A flicker of warmth softened his features.

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  “Looks like someone’s a sleepyhead, huh?” he teased.

  Lara chuckled softly. “You’ve got her pegged!”

  Seven launched into details—dietary restrictions, wound care, medication timing. His voice carried in an even timbre, low and mesmeric, until a subtle shift broke his speech: a quiet sigh, the faint rustle of sheets.

  Sana stirred. Her lashes fluttered, then her eyelids cracked open, hazy and languid like sunlight filtering through fog.

  Seven’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. I was just briefing Lara about your care plan. I’ll check on you after surgery, alright?”

  Still heavy with sleep, Sana hummed, her heavily lidded eyes following him as he disappeared into the bathroom. Her heart gave a foolish leap. He’s not just in my dreams anymore. He’s here... for real.

  ……

  OR 5 – 09:50 Hours

  After an invigorating shower, Seven strode down the corridor with renewed clarity. The sterile chill of the operating theater embraced him as he pushed through the heavy doors.

  Inside, the air thrummed with purpose, the steady beep of monitors syncing with the muted whir of the ventilation system. Blue drapes, trays of gleaming instruments, the faint antiseptic tang; every element of the room whispered precision and control.

  Noticing his arrival, Nathan straightened, his tone brisk with energy. “Team, Colonel Seven has arrived. Colonel, this is Dr. Grant, anesthesiologist. Dr. Taylor and Dr. Moore will assist. Ms. Peters is our scrub tech.”

  Seven offered a crisp greeting. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here.”

  Dr. Grant, already preparing the anesthetics, piped up, “Colonel, how long do you anticipate the procedure to take?”

  “Six hours,” Seven replied, his tone clinical.

  “Understood. Starting induction now.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  He pivoted toward the trauma surgeons. “Dr. Gill, Dr. Taylor, Dr. Moore, I’ve reviewed the previous reports. Liver and kidney repairs were excellent. However, conventional spinal treatment failed to yield functional recovery.”

  Nathan nodded grimly. “Exactly why we recommended you for this case.”

  “Has the hospital received formal consent from the patient’s family?”

  “Yes,” Nathan confirmed. “All consents are signed. The family understands the risks and supports this procedure. They’re hopeful for what you can achieve.”

  As the words settled, Dr. Grant chimed in from behind the drape, “Patient’s under, Colonel. It’s all yours.”

  Seven rolled his shoulders once, grounding himself in the rhythm of the task ahead. “Peters, start the recording.”

  “Recording is on,” she confirmed.

  Her words, as if a prompt, channeled Seven into work mode. “October 18, 2022. Time: 1000 hours. I am Dr. Seven, performing bio-bracing for spinal cord repair with stem cell harvesting. Assisting: Dr. Grant, anesthesiologist; Dr. Gill, Dr. Taylor, and Dr. Moore, trauma specialists; Ms. Peters, surgical tech.”

  He paused briefly before continuing, “Patient: male, age 40, 190 lbs, O-positive. Sustained a GSW to T11. Prior liver and kidney repairs were successful; spinal repair was incomplete, resulting in paraplegia. Plan: excise damaged spinal segment, restore vascular integrity, stabilize with BioBrace. Harvest bone marrow stem cells for culture and staged reinjection over the next 6 months; first injection projected for postoperative day 7 to 10.”

  The team absorbed every word, their concentration sharpening.

  A breath passed, then the final statement: “Projected mobility recovery of 60 percent if successful. Let’s begin. Incision in the lower thoracic.”

  “Scalpel.”

  “Scalpel.”

  The scalpel glinted under the OR lights, and the world narrowed to the fine edge of steel against flesh.