She should have been in a deep sleep by now, but she was still wandering the hospital corridors. Rengin sighed, rubbed her eyes, pushed open the emergency exit door, and stepped outside. She sat on the edge of the stairs and just breathed, hugging her knees. Resting her chin on them, she stared into the distance. She had spent so many years within these hospital walls. Their daughter had grown up, soon to reach adulthood, but Timur would never see it.

The door creaked, and a man’s shoe entered her field of vision. Rengin almost smirked. The moment she thought of Timur, a man appeared here — at a spot where no one had ever come before; in all these years, she had never met anyone here.

— Can’t sleep? — she heard Serhat’s voice.

The new doctor. He was also looking for his place in this hospital. A place where he could be alone. A place to hold onto. He was searching for his own territory. Strange that he had chosen her corner.

— Don’t you think this hospital runs on what’s left of everyone’s nervous system? — she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

Serhat shrugged, turned slightly, and leaned his hands on the railing:

— I’ve gotten used to thinking only for myself, — he admitted honestly, — for Esra. That’s become my purpose in life.

— If Alia’s surgery fails, there will be no department, no list at all, — Rengin whispered.

— Except Esra chose Dr. Bahar, — he reminded her, turning his back, — if there’s no transplant, Esra won’t have a chance. You see, — he looked at her from above, — I’m on your team now. I have to think about my daughter and about Evren’s surgery.

— You don’t want to, do you? — she almost smiled.

— It’s not about heroics, or denying or accepting him as a doctor. No, I’m not that fixated, — he nodded, lifting his foot and resting it on the step. — I don’t even know what I want more — for it to fail or for it to succeed.

— You and Evren have your own conflict, that’s your past, — she quickly raised her hand, asking him to listen. — That’s your story. We all have our dark and not-so-dark chapters, but that’s not the point. I can’t handle it if the two lead surgeons go to war in the OR.

— I’m used to standing only for my own, — he reminded her, — and Evren is not my person. But maybe that doesn’t matter, — he said, watching her closely.

He looked at her hair, stirred lightly by the night breeze. At her dark eyes, which seemed even darker against the night sky. She looked fragile, sitting on the iron step, hugging her knees, chin resting on them. She was silent, and so was he, studying her slender waist, her delicate shoulders — shoulders that carried the weight of the entire hospital, of everyone who worked there, even the patients, current and future. All of them balanced on that thin line wrapped in a white coat. She didn’t look defenseless; on the contrary, she knew exactly what she was doing, saw her goal, and walked toward it no matter what.

— I promise I’ll do everything I can, — he reached out his hand to her, — you know, it’s been a long time since I felt needed, — he waited patiently for her to move and touch his fingers, — needed by anyone besides my daughter.

Rengin sighed and took his hand. He helped her up.

— Come on, you need to sleep, — Serhat whispered, his fingers brushing her hair as he tucked a strand behind her ear.

— Decided to be part of the team? — she asked, looking him straight in the eye. — Or is it just about your daughter?

Serhat didn’t blink, holding her gaze. He knew she wasn’t asking idly — she wanted to know what to expect from him in the future. Rengin needed to know if she could count on him.

— You’re a person, — he finally managed to say, unsure why he was so restless. — And you’re holding this whole hospital together. It’s time for you to at least be… — he hesitated, still locked in her eyes, not understanding why her lips drew him in, — to relax a little. You’re strong, — he nodded, — even when you sleep, your strength stays with you. Let’s go.

Serhat pulled her along, gripping her hand firmly. Rengin hadn’t walked like this with a man in a long time. With Timur, it had been rare — only when they left Istanbul — and later, when they reconciled, that closeness had completely vanished.

He brought her to her office and led her in. She lay down on the couch, slipping off her shoes, which landed on the floor with a dull thud.

— This feels a little awkward, — she admitted, lying there, watching him. — I’m nobody to you.

Serhat flinched. He realized he’d almost leaned in, almost let his lips touch her forehead. As if it were the most natural thing to do — and he did:

— Want me to cover you? — he asked, turning away, afraid of his own impulse.

— No, — she wrapped her arms around herself, as if to keep warm.

— I’ll cover you anyway, — he said, glancing around her office.

Rengin closed her eyes, hearing him open cupboards and drawers, but her eyelids grew so heavy she couldn’t open them anymore. Almost slipping into sleep, she felt him drape something over her. She wanted to thank him, even tried to speak. She hadn’t slept in someone’s presence for so long — she should have felt awkward, uneasy. But everything felt so natural, with him moving around her office as if he had the right… and she liked it. For the first time, a man wasn’t pressuring her. For the first time, she didn’t have to prove anything.

A smile touched her lips, and her breathing steadied. She didn’t hear him close the door behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet of her office…

***

…In the quiet hour before dawn, when patients still slept in their wards and the on-call doctors dozed over morning coffee, a distant hum broke the silence. At first faint and low, then the windows of the surgical wing began to tremble. Only after came the heavy, heart-stopping thud of rotor blades.

— It’s coming, — Rengin whispered, pushing the blinds aside, squinting as the rays of the rising sun struck her eyes. — All units on standby, — she ordered, her fingers tightening around the dark coffee mug.

She managed a couple of sips before the office — drowsy just seconds ago — came to life.

On the roof of the adjacent administrative building, a helicopter touched down. The city shuddered as if from thunder. Three orderlies, including Ferdi, rolled out a stretcher carrying a transparent capsule, with Jennifer stepping out right behind them. Lowering her sunglasses, she looked at Evren, who had already approached the capsule.

Placing his hands on the glass, he stared into Alia’s pale face. If not for the tubes, one might have mistaken her for a lifeless mannequin, as though they were in the middle of some experiment — like that time with the hand… But no, beneath the glass lay the real Alia, alive, still breathing, even if only with the help of machines.

— Evren, — Jennifer’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.

He turned to her instantly, as if until that moment he hadn’t noticed her at all. He saw the straight line of her back, the sharp, unyielding look in her eyes. Jennifer was like a tightly drawn string, afraid to make one wrong move, afraid to let herself break. Not now — not after everything that had been done. Evren embraced her for only a moment.

— You’re here. You brought her. Now it’s up to us, — he released her. — Everything’s ready. To the OR, — Evren called out, gesturing with his hand.

They walked together. Waiting for them at the exit were Bahar and Serhat, with Rengin and Adem Yurdakul right behind.

Their eyes met. Evren stared at him without blinking. Adem — smiled faintly, almost politely, almost humanely, yet there was no compassion in it. It was the kind of smile with which a judge delivers a verdict, leaving no room for appeal.

Evren swallowed hard. He understood that from this moment on, Adem would be his shadow. Clearing his throat, Evren looked away. Now his entire world had narrowed to one person lying in the transparent capsule.

They wheeled her down the corridor to the elevator, where Siren, Uraz, and the second team of surgeons and assistants were already waiting.

— OR readiness, sterilization, instruments, blood — all confirmed? — Evren’s voice bounced off the walls.

— Legal matters are complete, — Rengin answered crisply, without looking at Adem, who was noting everything on his tablet. — What matters most is that we make no mistakes, — she added quietly.

— Alia is already here. That’s part of the victory, — Serhat said from behind her.

— Dr. Evren, — Adem’s voice made everyone flinch and freeze, — are you certain you can handle this?

— Ask her, — Evren replied without turning his head. — If she says “no,” I’ll walk away.

— Her heart is barely holding on, — Jennifer removed her glasses and looked at the stranger with the tablet. — You have a few hours. After that — organ failure, — she reminded him, turning back to Evren.

They headed for the surgical block, Adem following, pausing to take photos, jot notes into his tablet, make annotations. From behind the glass, he watched everyone prepare in the sterile zone. Evren could feel his gaze — like he was standing right behind him. Their eyes met more than once in the mirror. Just as Evren finished scrubbing in, Adem detained him with another question, stepping into the sterile zone:

— Are you ready? — he asked in a flat, emotionless voice, glancing at his own reflection in the mirror.

— For surgery — yes, — Evren stood motionless, hands raised.

For Adem, it was as if time didn’t exist — he moved at his own pace, making notes on his tablet. Only after closing the screen did he lift his eyes:

— I trust you’ll follow protocol, — he went on in that same monotone. — If you take risks, I’ll have to shut everything down, — he said, removing his glasses to clean the lenses.

— If you’re that afraid of unconventional decisions, — tension edged Evren’s voice as he stood frozen with raised hands, — then you don’t understand how organs work, how surgery works.

Adem’s face showed no reaction — his gaze steady, as if he didn’t grasp that he was blocking a surgeon about to enter the OR. Neither noticed Bahar peeking out from the operating room.

— I know how hearts stop, — Adem said, eyes fixed on Evren. — I’ll be there, behind the glass, — then suddenly stepped toward him, forcing Evren to retreat to avoid contact.

He wasn’t afraid — he just didn’t want to break sterile protocol.

— With one push, I can shut it all down. Remember that, Professor! — for the first time, there was steel in Adem’s voice.

— If you have personal scores to settle, save them for later, — Bahar cut in without leaving the OR. — Right now, a patient is waiting, and you’re holding us up. Are you going to log this too? — she asked sharply. — Make sure you note the time and reason you were here.

Even Adem, lowering his tablet, froze.

— In the sterile zone, we have our own rules, Adem Yurdakul, — Bahar reminded him. — And I have the authority to remove anyone, including you.

— Dr. Bahar, Professor Evren was there when my wife died, — Adem said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone that sent a chill down the spine. — The hospital never provided the full documentation. I don’t blame you, doctor, but if I were you, I’d keep my distance. Forgive me, but I will need to be present for the surgery.

Adem turned and left the sterile zone. A shiver ran through Evren’s body, and he lowered his arms… brushing against his gown as they dropped. Swallowing hard, he stepped to the sink and turned on the tap. He didn’t move, just stared at the stream of water while his heart pounded so loud it roared in his ears.

Bahar watched his back. He seemed not to notice her, eyes locked on the running water, motionless. Without a word, Bahar stepped closer and poured soap into his hands. Their fingers brushed for the briefest moment, and he exhaled — as if he hadn’t been breathing until then.

He met her gaze in the mirror. She was right there beside him, not asking questions. His movements became steadier, more deliberate; his breathing evened out. He knew that now wasn’t the time, but later she would ask. And suddenly, a storm rose inside him… He wanted her to ask now, wanted her to start probing. But she remained silent, even while standing so close. He too stayed silent, aware of how much he longed to have his Bahar back — the one who could read him with half a glance, half a word. The one with whom he had breathed in unison… And he also knew that, for now, that shared breath existed only in the operating room. Everything else — he would have to fight for again. Evren clenched his teeth.

They washed every inch of their skin with meticulous care. Evren kept his eyes on his reflection. Bahar kept hers on him. Both knew that if he made a mistake — Alia would die; if she survived, he would still be held to account for every step against protocol. Many in this hospital depended on his movements, his actions, his decisions. All or nothing.

Switching off the tap with his elbow, Evren looked at Bahar, and together they stepped into the operating room…

***

…Bright light, perfect sterility — everything in the OR was ready, yet the air felt charged, like the moment before a storm. Alia lay on the table, hooked up to the machines. Everyone in the room was watching Evren.

Behind the glass, Adem Yurdakul made himself comfortable, placing his tablet on the desk, pulling the monitor closer, testing the microphone. He even set a small bottle of water within reach.

— Blood pressure stable, — Siren reported.

— Making the incision, — Evren lowered the scalpel. — Fenestration… scissors.

Uraz stood close, handing him every instrument he named, his eyes locked on Evren’s precise, exact movements. He trembled with impatience, desperate to see it all, to be part of it. Yes, it had irritated him when Bahar went out after Evren and they came back together — but this was just work. Just work.

— There’s a shift, — Bahar announced, — the artery is lower. According to the scans, it should be five millimeters higher.

Standing next to her, Serhat leaned down for a better look:

— Confirmed. There’s a deviation, — he glanced at Evren.

It was their first time working together, their first time fighting for the same life… No — not just one life, but many, if they succeeded. Serhat was holding on only to the hope of a future for his daughter, and that future was being shaped here, by their own hands.

— What’s the plan? — he asked.

Adem leaned forward slightly, adjusting the mic, fingers twitching — ready to intervene at any second, his full attention fixed on Evren.

— I’ll follow the lower arc, stitch from the side, — Evren didn’t lift his head, — without a stabilizer, — he added after a pause.

— That’s a non-standard choice, — Adem’s voice came immediately over the mic. — Last time you skipped stabilization too, — the OR fell silent except for the steady beeping of machines. — It ended in fibrillation.

Evren flinched, sweat pearling on his forehead.

— I’m holding the pressure, — Serhat locked eyes with him, — the heart’s stable. You sure?

Evren looked at his own hands. Bahar noticed the faint tremor in his fingers.

— Gauze for the doctor, — she instructed evenly.

He lifted his gaze, and she caught it. They stood across from each other, breathing in sync.

— I’m sure, — he exhaled, and they bent over the table again.

He made the cut. Adem was practically standing now, leaning toward the glass to get a better view.

— Stitching, — Evren’s voice was lower, as though his hands worked on their own, detached from his body.

— Minimal bleeding, — Serhat noted.

— Line is clean, — Bahar confirmed. — Everything’s stable.

Rengin let out a breath. She was sitting next to the observer. Adem, jaw tight, dropped into his chair, slowly pulling a handkerchief from his jacket to dab at his forehead. Jennifer stood by the wall, fists clenched. She heard every word, but her eyes stayed closed — she didn’t dare look.

— Shunt is in, flow is good, — Serhat passed the instrument to the assistant.

All eyes turned to the monitors.

— Rhythm stable, — Evren said. — Proceeding.

— Arrhythmia, — Adem’s voice suddenly cut through the mic. — Stop. You’re violating protocol.

Rengin pressed a button, muting his mic, and turned to him:

— You’re destabilizing my surgeons. Stop, or I’ll have to report you!

Ahu shifted behind her, making her own notes on the tablet. Adem said nothing, and Rengin unmuted the mic.

— He knows what he’s doing, — Bahar was watching the abdominal cavity.

— I’ll cover the liver, — Uraz finally had his turn.

— One minute, — Serhat worked quickly to join the vessels.

— Fibrillation, — Siren announced. — Heart won’t start.

— Adrenaline? — Evren’s eyes met Serhat’s.

In that moment, everything else was forgotten. They were simply doctors, fighting for a patient’s life. For a moment, they were a team. And Serhat nodded.

— Adrenaline, — he agreed.

— Adrenaline to the coronary artery, — Evren ordered.

— Stop! That’s against protocol, — Adem all but shouted.

Rengin shot up from her chair and pushed down on the observer’s shoulders, forcing him to sit.

— Mild hepatic vessel constriction, — Bahar reported.

— Pressure’s dropping, — Siren echoed.

Evren and Serhat worked to restart the heart. Siren, Bahar, and Uraz fought for the liver.

— Catheter, — Uraz’s voice trembled.

— Stop, — Bahar barked, — wrong catheter! Who gave that drug?

— That’s not protocol, — Adem’s voice from the mic was ignored now.

— I thought… it was in the chart, — the junior assistant tried to justify himself.

— We don’t think here, we know, — Evren said, lifting his hands with Serhat’s — and Alia’s new heart began to beat. — Heart’s working!

Tears rolled down Jennifer’s cheeks as she slid down the wall, covering her face with her hands. Rengin exhaled, gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white.

— Out, — Bahar ordered, looking at the assistant, — now. Uraz, go.

She caught her son’s eyes, helped him steady his breathing, and only then looked over at Evren.

— Liver stabilized, — Siren and Uraz reported together.

— She’s alive, — Bahar whispered, meeting Evren’s gaze.

— Heart is beating on its own. Regular contractions, — Serhat was smiling beneath his mask.

— Record it. Let’s close, — Evren’s eyes were glowing.

Jennifer sobbed again, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. Rengin lowered her head into her hands, elbows braced on the table.

— We did it, — Serhat stepped back from the table, letting the second surgical team finish the procedure.

— She’s going to live, — Evren whispered. — Now she has a chance.

Adem didn’t shut off his tablet right away. He sat before the monitor, as if deaf to the congratulations, blind to Jennifer’s tears, unmoved by the sight of the surgeons removing their gloves.

He replayed the footage — the exact moment Alia’s heart had started beating. Rewound. Played it again. His finger hovered over the delete button… but he didn’t press it. The screen went black as the timer expired. He looked at his own reflection in the dark glass. Only then did he lean back in his chair. No word. No gesture. No verdict. He simply stood and walked out.

Rengin clamped a hand over her mouth as Jennifer finally rose from the floor and placed her hands on her shoulders. Ahu stood silent behind them. No one knew what would come next — only that Alia had a chance. Everything now depended on her body’s ability to accept the donor organs.

Serhat removed his gown and stepped out of the OR. He still didn’t fully grasp what they had just done. He didn’t know if the department would survive, or if the council would shut them down — but they had just worked side by side with Evren, as one team, just as they had once dreamed back in their student days. They weren’t friends, but Evren might well become the doctor who treated his daughter. And he couldn’t deny that Evren was an exceptional surgeon, even if he bent the rules.

Bahar and Evren followed Siren and Uraz out. Uraz was so exhilarated that he showered Evren with praise, while Bahar and Siren exchanged glances. In a rush of excitement, Uraz even hugged him.

— But I’m not letting you into our home, professor. You’re just a doctor to me, — he whispered. — I won’t let you hurt my mother again, but I’ll still learn from you.

Evren patted Uraz’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on Bahar. She gave him only a brief glance, a smile, then turned to Siren. She was happy for him, but he longed to celebrate his small victory with her… though he wasn’t even sure if it was victory or defeat. A sharp pang went through his chest.

She was here, but she wasn’t sharing his highs and lows. This was exactly what Rengin had meant when she told him he hadn’t been there. Now Bahar was — yet she was only an observer. The realization made him feel unwell. His chest tightened, his breath caught.

— You went against protocol, — Bahar reminded him as she came level with him.

— Won’t you hug me? — the words slipped from his lips.

Her brows rose slightly. She glanced around. Everyone was congratulating each other, so she allowed herself a brief embrace — just a moment — and then stepped back. That single second was enough for him to remember how much he missed her arms around him, their conversations… and to understand, only now, what he had lost.

— You’re not going to ask about that woman? — he whispered.

She shrugged, scanning the room for Siren and Uraz.

— I’m going with the kids, — she said with a faint smile, though her eyes remained sad. She could have said so much, but chose silence instead.

Bahar left, her arms around Siren and Uraz. They walked away together — like a family. He watched them go, listening to their cheerful chatter, while he simply stood there. She had walked away as if she no longer cared about what had happened to that woman, or to Naz.

The color drained from his face. He suddenly understood — she was here, supporting him, but nothing between them had changed. Not yet. He didn’t even hear the hushed conversations behind him, though he knew the bets were still on.

Evren turned and walked in the opposite direction. He needed air. Soon he would have to face Adem Yurdakul’s verdict… but somehow, it no longer mattered as much. Without Bahar, the department itself seemed less important. It wasn’t enough just to work beside her. He needed her… needed her desperately. He loved her. Loved her so much it hurt — tearing his heart to pieces.