The office felt different this morning. The same sterile white walls, the same medical equipment, the same operating table under the harsh fluorescent lights. But the energy was completely different from last time.

Last time, there had been uncertainty. Fear. The very real possibility that I wouldn't wake up.

Today felt like hope.

Evelyn sat on the edge of the operating table, her legs dangling slightly, hands gripping the edge with white knuckles. Her blindfold was still in place, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

Alexis stood at her instrument tray, methodically checking each piece of equipment. Her platinum hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore full surgical scrubs. But I could see the slight tremor in her hands as she picked up a scalpel, examined it, and set it back down.

I walked over to her, keeping my voice low. "Are you okay with this?"

She glanced at me, and I saw the conflict in her eyes. "I have to be."

"That's not what I asked," I said gently. "After what happened last time—after my heart stopped—I need to know you're actually ready for this."

Alexis set down the instrument she'd been holding and turned to face me fully. "It's different this time," she said quietly. "With you, I had to map your entire brain. Every neural pathway, every System integration point. It was exploratory surgery in the most literal sense. I was working blind, trying to understand something that had never been documented before."

She looked over at Evelyn, her expression softening. "With her, I know exactly what I'm targeting. One specific area. The visual cortex and its connection to the amygdala. I've run simulations. I've studied the data from your surgery. I know what needs to be adjusted and how to do it without causing collateral damage."

"But?" I prompted, because I could hear the unspoken word.

"But it's still brain surgery," she admitted. "There's always risk. Always the possibility that something goes wrong. And if it does…" She trailed off, her jaw tightening.

I placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're the best doctor I know. The best doctor anyone knows. If anyone can do this, it's you."

She met my eyes and nodded slowly. "I won't let her down. I won't let any of you down."

"We know," Sienna said from where she stood near the door with Camille. Her voice was warm, reassuring. "We trust you, Alexis."

Camille nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, you've got this. We've seen you do impossible things before."

Alexis managed a small smile, then straightened her shoulders, that clinical composure settling back into place. "Alright. Before we begin, Sienna, Camille—you should probably leave."

"What?" Camille protested immediately. "No way. We're staying. Evelyn needs support, and—"

"Evelyn will be unconscious," Alexis interrupted calmly. "And you two tend to get queasy around blood."

"I can handle blood," Camille said defensively, crossing her arms.

"Can you handle seeing someone's brain?" Alexis asked pointedly.

Camille opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked at Sienna, who had gone slightly pale at the mention of exposed brain tissue.

"Evelyn's brain will be visible for most of the procedure," Alexis continued matter-of-factly. "I'll need to access the visual cortex directly, which means opening the cranium in the occipital region. There will be blood, yes, but more importantly, there will be exposed neural tissue that I'll be actively manipulating."

Sienna's hand went to her stomach. "Oh."

Camille grabbed Sienna's arm with sudden urgency. "You know what? We were just leaving. Weren't we, Sienna? We have that thing. That very important thing we need to do. Right now."

"Right," Sienna said weakly. "That thing."

Despite the tension, I felt my lips twitch into a smile. Camille could face down corrupt officials and dangerous situations without blinking, but the thought of seeing brain surgery had her fleeing the room.

"We'll be right outside," Camille said, already backing toward the door while pulling Sienna with her. "If you need anything—anything that doesn't involve us looking at brains—just call."

"We will," I assured them.

The door closed behind them, leaving just the two of us—three, if you counted Evelyn, though she hadn't said much since we'd entered the office.

Alexis walked over to the operating table, her professional demeanor fully in place now. "Evelyn, I need you to lie back. We'll get you positioned properly before I administer the anesthetic."

Evelyn nodded, her movements careful as she lay down on the table. I moved to stand beside her, taking her hand in mine.

"Hey," I said softly.

"Hey," she replied, her voice slightly shaky.

"You're going to be fine. When you wake up, this will all be over, and you'll be able to see."

"What if something goes wrong?" she whispered.

"Then Alexis will fix it," I said with more confidence than I felt. "She's the best there is. You're in the best possible hands."

Evelyn squeezed my hand tightly. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"If something does go wrong—if I don't wake up the way I should—promise me you'll still go to Ghana. Still meet the World President. Don't let this stop you."

"Evelyn—"

"Promise me, Rey."

I looked at her blindfolded face, at the determination in the set of her jaw, and knew I couldn't refuse. "I promise. But nothing is going to go wrong."

She managed a small smile. "Good. Because I really want to see what you look like when you're not just a voice and a presence."

"You might be disappointed," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Impossible," she replied.

Alexis appeared on the other side of the table, syringe in hand. "Ready?"

Evelyn took a deep breath, then nodded. "Ready."

"Count backward from ten for me," Alexis instructed, administering the anesthetic through the IV she'd already placed.

"Ten," Evelyn said, her voice already starting to slur slightly. "Nine… eight… seven…"

Her grip on my hand loosened. "Six… five…"

Her breathing deepened, evening out.

"Four…"

And then she was out.

I gently placed her hand on the table and stepped back, giving Alexis room to work.

The procedure began with careful precision.

Alexis positioned Evelyn's head in a specialized frame that held it perfectly still. She marked the incision site on the back of Evelyn's skull with a sterile marker, measuring twice to ensure accuracy.

"I'll be making a smaller incision than with your surgery," she explained as she worked, falling into that teaching mode she used when she wanted to focus. "Just enough to access the occipital lobe where the visual cortex is located."

I watched as she made the first cut—a clean line through skin and tissue. Biometric Insight automatically cataloged what I was seeing, providing medical context that most people wouldn't have. The precision was remarkable. Every movement deliberate and controlled.

Blood welled up, but Alexis was ready with suction and cauterization, keeping the field clear.

She worked through the layers methodically. Skin. Subcutaneous tissue. Muscle. Each one carefully separated and held back with retractors.

Then came the bone.

The surgical drill whirred to life, and I watched as Alexis created a small opening in Evelyn's skull. The sound was unsettling, but her hands never wavered. She worked with the confidence of someone who had done this hundreds of times, even though I knew this particular procedure was new.

When the bone flap was removed and set aside, I could see it.

Brain tissue.

Evelyn's brain, exposed and vulnerable under the harsh surgical lights. The surface was gray-pink, with blood vessels creating an intricate network across it. It looked fragile and impossibly complex at the same time.

Alexis adjusted the overhead light, angling it for better visibility. "The visual cortex is here," she said, pointing with a sterile instrument. "And the connection to the amygdala runs along this pathway."

She pulled up a display—data from my surgery, showing the neural pathways she'd mapped. "This is what we're correcting. The Cain Protocol created an artificial connection between visual processing and threat response. When Evelyn sees you, the signal gets rerouted through this pathway—" she traced it on the display "—which triggers an automatic attack response."

"And you can sever that connection?" I asked.

"Not sever," she corrected. "That would cause other problems. I need to weaken it, redirect it back to normal pathways. It's more like… retraining the brain than removing something."

She selected a specialized instrument—something that looked like a cross between a scalpel and a probe. "This delivers targeted electrical stimulation. It'll disrupt the artificial pathway while encouraging the brain to reestablish normal connections."

I watched as she positioned the instrument with microscopic precision, her eyes fixed on the monitor that showed magnified views of the neural tissue.

"Initiating first pulse," she said quietly.

A soft hum filled the air. On the monitor, I could see the neurons reacting, pathways lighting up and then dimming.

Alexis worked in silence now, completely focused. She moved the probe fractionally, delivered another pulse, checked the readings, adjusted again.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Then two.

I stood against the wall, observing but not interfering. Observation tracked every movement, every adjustment, every reading on the monitors. But this was Alexis's domain. All I could do was watch and trust.

She worked through the visual cortex systematically, targeting each artificial pathway the Cain Protocol had created. The holographic display showed her progress—red lines indicating corrupted pathways slowly shifting to blue as they were corrected.

"Halfway there," she murmured, more to herself than to me.

Another hour passed. The tension in her shoulders never eased, but her hands remained steady. Perfectly steady.

I saw her pause once, studying the monitor with intense concentration. "Interesting," she said softly.

"What?" I asked.

"There's an unusual clustering of modified neurons here," she said, indicating a spot on the display. "More concentrated than the simulations predicted. But it's manageable. I'll just need to be extra careful."

She adjusted her approach, spending extra time on that section, making sure every pathway was properly corrected before moving on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably three and a half hours, she straightened up.

"Done," she said, her voice tired but satisfied. "All primary pathways corrected. Secondary connections normalized. The artificial routing the Cain Protocol created has been disrupted and redirected."

She began the process of closing, working in reverse. Bone flap repositioned and secured. Layers of tissue carefully sutured closed. Skin sealed with precise stitching that would minimize scarring.

Through it all, Evelyn's vitals remained stable. Heart rate steady. Blood pressure normal. No complications.

When the final suture was placed, Alexis stepped back and let out a long breath. "It's done. The procedure was successful."

"No complications?" I asked.

"None," she confirmed. "Everything went exactly as planned. Better than planned, actually. The corrections took hold faster than I expected. Her brain is already beginning to adapt to the corrected pathways."

She removed her surgical gloves and walked over to check Evelyn's vitals one more time. "I'll reduce the anesthetic now. She should wake up in about ten minutes."

Those ten minutes felt longer than the entire four-hour procedure.

We waited in silence, Alexis checking and rechecking readings while I stood beside the operating table, watching Evelyn's chest rise and fall with steady breaths.

Then her fingers twitched.

"She's waking up," Alexis said, moving to her side.

Evelyn's breathing changed, becoming less deep, more natural. Her head moved slightly, and she made a small sound.

"Evelyn?" Alexis said gently. "Can you hear me?"

"Mmm," Evelyn responded, her voice thick with lingering anesthesia.

"Take your time," Alexis instructed. "Let yourself wake up slowly. No sudden movements."

Evelyn's hand reached up, searching for something. I caught it gently, and she gripped my fingers.

"Rey?" she mumbled.

"I'm here," I said.

Her breathing steadied as consciousness returned fully. "Did it… did it work?"

Alexis and I exchanged a glance.

"We won't know for certain until you try," Alexis said carefully. "But all indications are positive. The procedure went perfectly."

Evelyn was quiet for a moment, processing that. Then her free hand moved up toward her blindfold.

"Wait," Alexis said. "Let me help you sit up first. Slowly."

With Alexis's support, Evelyn pushed herself into a sitting position. She swayed slightly, and I steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Okay," Alexis said, her voice betraying none of the nervousness I knew she felt. "Whenever you're ready. Remove the blindfold and tell us what you see."

Evelyn's hands were shaking as they reached up to the knot at the back of her head. Her fingers fumbled with it for a moment before finding the right end to pull.

The fabric loosened.

I held my breath.

Alexis stood perfectly still, her professional composure firmly in place but I could see the tension in her jaw.

Evelyn's hands moved to the front of the blindfold, gripping the fabric.

"Evelyn," I said softly. "Remove the blindfold."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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