Bahar walked beside the gurney, her hand gripping its edge, her eyes fixed on the pale face of the girl — barely twenty, if that. The orderlies pushed the gurney swiftly down the corridor. Bahar frowned when she noticed the dark stains of blood spreading across the white sheet. She struggled to make out the words the man behind her kept muttering.

— She’s pregnant, — at last she caught the sense of his mumbling.

He spoke as though justifying himself. Bahar turned a sharp look on him.

— You’re a veterinarian? — she demanded.

— I… yes, — his words stumbled over one another. — I’m a vet, — he averted his eyes. — I gave her an injection… — his voice trembled, as though afraid to meet Bahar’s gaze.

— What kind?! — her fingers clenched around the girl’s wrist, demanding an answer.

She barely found a pulse, and its rhythm alarmed her.

— Prostaglandins, — she caught the word in his muttering, and her insides froze.

She turned to him at once:

— You injected her with that drug? — her voice cut like ice, her breath uneven with fury.

— She begged me! — the man burst out, stepping closer to Bahar. — I didn’t want to… Her father would’ve killed me, — he panted. — I had no choice!

Bahar couldn’t help it — her eyes flickered, a flash of reproach breaking through for a moment. But it was enough.

— I didn’t want to! — he all but shouted, reacting to that split-second expression. — She begged me! I couldn’t lose my family — I have a wife, children!

— You don’t even understand what you’ve done, — Bahar forced control into her voice, cold and steady. — This isn’t treatment. It’s a crime.

His face twisted into a grimace. Suddenly he grabbed her elbow, as if to force her to listen.

— I was saving her! — his fingers dug in tight, twisting her arm painfully. — She asked me for it herself!

His words echoed against the walls. Bahar braced her hand against his chest, but he didn’t budge. His grip was iron, bruising her skin.

— Let go! — Bahar shoved his shoulder. — You weren’t saving her, — she fought to free herself, but it was useless. — You brought her to this!

At that moment, the doors slammed open — Rengin appeared, with Ahu just behind, clutching her tablet to her chest.

— Bahar! — Doruk came rushing from the corner.

— Bahar! — Ferdi arrived from the other side.

The man shoved her so hard she hit the wall, the air bursting from her chest, her vision dimming. Ferdi and Doruk slammed into him at once, pinning him to the wall.

— She wanted it! It’s her fault! I loved her! — he screamed, thrashing, choking on his own words.

Bahar straightened her coat, her breath still uneven from the struggle, and turned back to the girl, not even noticing the red marks staining her sleeve where his fingers had dug in.

— Operating room, — she ordered curtly, hand pressed to her back, not allowing herself even a flinch of pain. — Immediately!

— Security! — Rengin’s voice cracked like a whip. — Police, now!

All color drained from Ahu’s face, her fingers gripping the tablet in a white-knuckled hold. She looked at Rengin, realizing it would fall to her to document everything.

— Get me a cardiologist, — Bahar followed the gurney into the OR, wiping all emotion from her face, in an instant becoming once more nothing but a doctor.

***

Nothing about it was simple. Evren entered and took in the scene at once. The monitors shrieked their alarms. Alya’s pale face, bluish shadows beneath her eyelids. Jennifer, her eyes red from tears, sat gripping the girl’s hand. Uraz stood by the monitor, his hands trembling, his eyes refusing to meet Evren’s.

— What happened during the night? — Evren’s voice cut through the air, cold, sharp.

— Complaints of headache, tremor, — Uraz muttered. — Monitored blood pressure and pulse every half hour.

Evren approached the bed. He pressed his fingers to Alya’s wrist, lifted her eyelids, flicked a penlight, studied the monitor.

— Overdose, — he declared at once, without a hint of doubt. — Blood, stat, tacrolimus levels.

— I told him we needed to call you in the night! — Jennifer’s voice broke.

She moved closer to Evren, as if he were the only anchor left. Evren nodded, eyes still locked on the patient.

— You were right, — he said curtly, then turned to the assistant. — Magnesium sulfate, bolus! Calcium gluconate, IV! Increase fluids — but no hepatic overload. Enzyme panel and ECG every thirty minutes. Tacrolimus — stop. Switch to baseline, minimum dose.

Evren’s composure was absolute. Uraz wiped the sweat from his brow, his face drawn tight. Jennifer clutched Alya’s hand even harder.

— Evren, — she looked at him as if he alone could save her, — her heart… it’s beating too fast…

Without breaking his rhythm, Evren said nothing, his hands moving swiftly…

***

She had never known the word no when there was even a fragment of a chance. Where others stepped back, Bahar went forward — even if it meant wrestling death itself.

— Signs of massive intra-abdominal bleeding, — she announced, performing the ultrasound right on the operating table.

— BP sixty over forty, — the anesthesiologist’s voice carried strain.

— I’m losing her, — Bahar lifted her head. — Where’s Serhat?!

— Here, — he burst into the OR, holding his hands up before him.

— Heart unstable, — Bahar exhaled, relief flickering across her face. — You hold rhythm, I’m going into the abdomen, — she ordered quickly.

— Stop, — Rengin’s voice cracked through, sharp enough to freeze them all, forcing their eyes on her for a moment.

A nurse was already gowning Serhat in sterile scrubs and gloves. Bahar turned back to the patient.

— Do you even understand what you’re doing? — Rengin held her mask to her face, standing in the doorway, not entering. Behind her loomed Ahu with a tablet clutched to her chest. — This is criminal liability. The council will demand protocol, — her voice faltered. — Sert Kaya already knows what’s happening!

— If we write protocols, she dies, — Bahar nodded to Serhat, not even asking who Sert Kaya was. Her eyes never left the girl on the table.

— I was saving her! She’s to blame herself! — the man’s shouts carried in from the corridor.

— One minute, — Serhat said, moving to the table but not yet touching the girl.

Rengin stared at the pale young face, the blood-soaked sheets, the monitors screaming their alarm. Her jaw clenched, and she forced the words out between her teeth:

— Do it! I take full responsibility. — She turned and stepped back. — Record everything, — she ordered Ahu. — Ferdi, where’s the police?

She stopped short — because she saw him. Sert Kaya emerged from around the corner. He walked past without breaking stride, his gaze cold, cutting, brushing across Rengin like a scalpel. That was enough: he had seen. He had recorded it all.

Ahu pressed herself against the wall. Rengin stood firm at the OR doors, and in that moment she knew: if she had to, she would block even him — Sert Kaya himself — from coming through.

***

She had brought it on herself. Jennifer could not sit still while Evren was quite literally dragging Alya back from the brink.

— Evren, her heart! — she cried again.

— I’ve got it, — he answered curtly, eyes fixed on the rhythm.

— You changed the dosage? — his gaze snapped to Uraz, sharp as a blade.

— I wanted to be cautious, her enzyme levels — — Uraz began.

— Patient first, — Evren cut him off. — Explanations later.

He bent over Alya again, checked her pulse. A minute later the monitor steadied, the rhythm evening out, the pressure climbing just a little. Evren straightened, only then glancing at Jennifer.

— Crisis is over, — he said calmly, though the tension still flickered in his eyes. — The symptoms will fade, — he exhaled. — Lucky it didn’t end worse.

Jennifer stared at him, tears still glistening, her hand clamped around her niece’s. Evren turned to Uraz:

— After rounds — my office. — His voice was low. — We’ll go over your actions. Not here.

Uraz nodded, head down. He made it look like he accepted Evren’s words — but inside, he clenched as if bracing for another fight. His lips whitened with anger. His face betrayed nothing, but in his eyes burned that same stubbornness that had never once accepted the word lesson.

***

It wasn’t like a training session for a new assistant. This wasn’t education anymore — this was a nightmare: his very first surgery with Dr. Bahar had turned into hell.

— BP sixty over forty! — the anesthesiologist’s eyes never left the monitors.

— Access! — Bahar made the incision, and blood poured out, flooding the table. — Clamp!

The assistant, pale as chalk, fumbled, his hands shaking, the clamp slipping from his fingers.

— I… I can’t reach… — he stammered.

— Give it here! — Bahar all but tore the instrument from his hands.

— Pulse dropping, — Serhat’s gaze was glued to the monitor. — Adrenaline bolus! Magnesium IV! If the pressure collapses — the heart will stop!

The monitor erupted in a piercing alarm.

— I’m losing her! — Bahar’s voice cracked. Her arms were drenched in blood up to the elbows, her fingers slipping through tissues. — I can’t find the source!

— Pressure forty over twenty! — Serhat shouted. — Asystole!

The monitor gave a long, endless tone. The screen lit up with a flat line. The assistant stood frozen, paralyzed.

— God… — the instrument slipped from his trembling hands.

Bahar closed her eyes for a heartbeat.

— I won’t let you go… — she opened them again, plunged both hands deeper, as though she could rip death itself from inside the girl. — You hear me, sweetheart? Hold on!

A click — the clamp snapped into place. The bleeding stopped. The monitor stuttered — one beep… then another… then a steady rhythm.

— Pulse! — Serhat shouted. — Pressure rising!

— She’s going to live, — Bahar whispered, trembling, raising her eyes.

Outside the OR doors stood Rengin, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. Beside her, Ahu was already typing rapidly into her tablet. Police dragged the man away in handcuffs.

— She begged me! It’s her fault! I loved her! — his screams pierced the walls like arrows, cutting through everyone who had just won a battle with death, defending the girl’s right to live…

***

He had the right to make decisions. He was a doctor, Uraz repeated to himself as he entered the professor’s office.

Evren sat at the desk, head lowered, pen moving across the chart. Uraz stood in front of him like a schoolboy called to the carpet. Silence filled the office, broken only by the scratch of the pen. Finally, Evren looked up.

— Do you understand what you did? — Evren asked, setting the pen aside.

— I — — Uraz clenched his hands behind his back — increased the dose, to lower the risk of rejection.

— Lowered the risk? — Evren almost smirked, but there was no trace of amusement in his eyes. — Did you see what happened to her last night? Tremor, tachycardia, headache. If the level had gone any higher — — his finger stabbed at the chart — she might not have survived until morning.

— I didn’t mean to harm her, — Uraz muttered hoarsely.

— None of us mean to, — Evren cut him off. — Medicine isn’t about intentions. It’s knowledge, calculation, responsibility. You sped up the infusion — — his tone was flat, clinical — you saw the numbers. You knew the risk. And you still did it.

— I was losing her! — Uraz snapped. — The pressure was dropping, I had to do something!

— Doing something doesn’t mean charging blind! — Evren slammed his palm on the desk. — This isn’t a gym, Uraz. You’re a doctor. You’re accountable not only for the action, but for the consequence. You gave too much. You thought you were playing it safe, but oversaturation is just as deadly as deficiency. Graft survival isn’t about pushing doses — it’s about balance.

Uraz fell silent, eyes dropping.

— If not for her resilience, if not for sheer luck, — Evren’s voice dropped lower, colder, — we’d be having a very different conversation right now.

— But I stabilized her values… — Uraz whispered.

— You almost killed her, — Evren shot back. — And remember this: a doctor doesn’t play the hero. A doctor moves step by step. A mistake costs a life. Do you understand?

Uraz nodded mutely, fists clenched tight.

— You stabilized her for five minutes. I stabilized her for twenty-four hours. That’s the difference between holding on and healing, — Evren rose and stepped around the desk.

He stopped just a breath away from Uraz.

— Remember this: a doctor cannot act out of fear, — his voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. — You were afraid. You saw your mother. You saw her pain, her suffering. And you tried to overcompensate. But your fear nearly killed a patient.

Uraz clenched his jaw, shame and anger boiling inside.

— Tell me, Uraz — — Evren’s voice was low, cutting — were you trying to prove something to me? Or to yourself?

— To myself, — Uraz forced out. — That I could.

Evren froze for a moment, then stepped back, returning to his desk.

— You’re a good doctor, Uraz, — his tone softened slightly — but for now, a dangerous one. Dangerous to yourself, and to others. Because there’s more emotion than knowledge in your decisions. You’re learning. Mistakes will happen. But if you hide them, if you pretend you’re in control when you’re not, you’ll bury a patient.

Uraz’s eyes flashed.

— So you’ll tell my mother? — bitterness crept into his voice.

Evren studied him for a long moment.

— No, — he said at last. — There’s no point. But you will remember this night for the rest of your life. And you will never again treat a patient to prove something to your own pride.

He fixed his gaze on Uraz and, unexpectedly, his voice softened:

— I know you’re angry with me. Because of Bahar. Because you think I’m repeating your father’s mistakes. But when you’re in the ward — you are not a son. You are not a hurt boy. You are a doctor. — His eyes locked onto Uraz’s. — And unless you learn to separate those roles, you will save no one.

The words hit harder than any shout. Uraz lifted his eyes, and for the first time there was no anger in them — only confusion.

— This time, I fixed it. Next time, maybe I won’t. Think about that, — Evren almost lowered himself into the chair, then paused. — And one more thing — — his eyes didn’t waver — if you ever find yourself at a dead end, call me. Even in the middle of the night. Even if you’re afraid I’ll tear you to shreds. Better me — than a death on your conscience.

Uraz exhaled and walked out of the office. In the corridor, he stopped, pressed his back to the wall, and shut his eyes. Inside, anger still churned — but alongside it rose a feeling he hadn’t expected. Shame. Crushing shame.

***

She felt utterly drained. The doors of the OR swung open. Bahar stepped into the corridor, eyes blazing, her face pale — the tension had not yet released her. Serhat followed, wiping his forehead with his sleeve before leaning against the wall.

— She’ll live, — Bahar exhaled.

Rengin stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Behind her, Ahu was already typing into her tablet, recording every detail.

Then he appeared. A tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, his steps deliberate, his posture flawless, his gaze glacial. He stopped before them, his eyes sweeping over Bahar, then Serhat, before fixing on Rengin. There was no curiosity in them, only the weight of total control.

— Today you saved a life, — he said evenly, as if delivering a verdict. — But at the cost of protocol. — He stepped closer. — Don’t be deceived: the Council does not shield violators. Protocol isn’t just paper. It is your protection. Break it again — and the ward will be shut down.

Bahar flushed, ready to fire back, but Rengin’s hand tightened on her elbow, silencing her.

— We understood the risk, — Rengin replied calmly. — I took it on myself.

— Excellent, — the corners of his mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile. — I’ll make a note of that.

He turned, walking away, leaving behind the trace of expensive cologne.

— What did he mean by that? — Bahar frowned, still hearing his receding footsteps.

— Later, — Rengin said evenly. — For now — patients.

Ahu remained at a distance, her eyes on Rengin. Her gaze held more questions than words. Questions Rengin had no answers for.

***

He knew why he had to face the consequences. Uraz strode down the hall, jaw clenched, his steps too sharp, too uneven to hide his tension.

— Uraz, — a quiet voice called him.

He spun around. Jennifer stood against the wall. He braced for condemnation — but her eyes, weary and soft, carried more sympathy than blame. That made it worse. It only deepened his guilt.

— Were you eavesdropping? — he snapped, irritation rough in his voice.

— No, — she answered steadily. — I remember the night. I saw Evren fixing what you had done.

Uraz turned away, as if afraid she’d see the shame in his eyes.

— You think adulthood comes when you start making decisions, — Jennifer went on. — But really, it begins when you learn to admit mistakes.

— I’m not weak, — he blurted, fists clenching, as if he might strike the wall.

— That’s not weakness, — she shook her head. — It’s strength — when you admit you need help.

Her words echoed everything Evren had just said. And that made it heavier, because they were both right, and Uraz refused to accept it.

— You’re so much like your mother, — Jennifer sighed. — She also believes she can handle everything alone. But even she needs someone beside her. — She paused, choosing her words, then added softly: — You’ll learn. Just don’t learn at the cost of someone else’s life.

She turned and walked down the corridor, unsteady on her feet. Uraz stood rooted, her words cutting deeper than any reproach. He couldn’t answer. He still refused to admit it, but he saw it now: his stubbornness wasn’t just his own pain — it was a mirror of Bahar herself.

He lowered his gaze to the floor. Something new was rising inside him, unfamiliar. Not anger. Not resentment. Responsibility. He was responsible for Alya. And he had failed. But he still owed Evren. He owed Jennifer. He owed Alya herself. He owed himself.

If he was so much like his mother, then he had to learn what she hadn’t — not just to fight, but to stand beside. The thought struck him, and for the first time that day, Uraz drew a deep breath.

***

At last, she allowed herself a breath. Bahar walked down the corridor, hugging her tablet to her chest. She longed for quiet, for just a little peace, but the hospital buzzed like a hive. A surgery in the morning, then rounds, then a quick visit to Reha and Gulcicek, and even a moment to check on Cagla. She had avoided only Uraz and Siren — and so far, she had succeeded. Still, she couldn’t help glancing back, expecting one of them to suddenly appear from around the corner, forcing her to meet their eyes… and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

Nor was she ready to be without him for so long. Bahar drew in a sharp breath… she hadn’t seen him all morning. Only a few hours had passed, yet she already ached for him — for his voice, his arms. She still struggled to believe they were together again. But they were. She looked at her hand, the ring on her right finger catching the light. She didn’t want to take it off ever again.

She glanced around once more to make sure no children were nearby, then winced at the dull ache in her forearm. But then — she heard his footsteps. Her lips curved into a smile before she could stop them. His fingers closed around hers, and Evren gently pulled her toward the stairwell. Without a word, he closed the door behind them, then spun her toward him, his eyes burning into hers.

— You look like you’ve been fighting Hades again, — his gaze sent a shiver down her spine.

— And you, — she raised her brows slightly, — keep smiling no matter what?

Evren glanced around, checking they were truly alone.

— For you, I’ll always smile, — he whispered, his voice low and rough.

She rolled her eyes, but her hand dropped to rest lightly on his. The corners of her lips betrayed her.

— This is a hospital, Evren.

— Then it’s lucky we’re on the stairs, — he stepped closer. — Perfect place to steal you between floors.

— Evren… — she meant to retreat, but he caught her hand and gently pulled her in.

She found herself against his chest as though she had always belonged there. Her heart thudded. His arms tightened around her — too tight. A sharp spasm shot through her back and elbow.

— Ah — — the sound slipped from her lips, her face tightening.

— What was that? — his whole body tensed. He pulled back, searching her eyes.

— Nothing, — she straightened quickly, slipping from his embrace. — Just tired.

His palm slid across her back, making her flinch.

— That’s not fatigue, — he said quietly. — What are you hiding from me, Bahar?

— Sometimes a man is better off not knowing everything, — she deflected, escaping his arms.

— I’m not only a man, — he said with a wry smile, though his eyes stayed serious. — I’m also a doctor. You know I’ll find out anyway.

— How’s Alya? — she shifted the subject, smoothing his collar, taking a step back.

— Stable, — Evren answered tersely, still frowning. He noticed how she edged away, putting distance between them. — And your patient?

— Alive, — she answered with equal restraint. — And Uraz? — she asked cautiously.

— You sound like an investigator, — Evren muttered, averting his gaze.

— Because you’re avoiding the question, — she caught his evasion at once.

— And what if I try avoiding the answer… with you? — he stepped closer, that familiar fire flashing in his eyes.

Bahar frowned, but before she could protest, his arms were around her waist.

— Evren… — she warned, hands braced on his shoulders.

— Come on, Dr. Bahar, — he whispered against her ear. — Just let me be a man for once, at least here on the stairs. — His cheek brushed hers.

She rolled her eyes again, though her lips trembled with a smile.

— This is still a hospital, — she whispered.

— Then let’s call it a consultation, — he teased, pulling her closer.

But the tighter he held her, the more her body tensed in his arms.

— What’s wrong with you? — his eyes sharpened, clinical now. — This isn’t just fatigue.

— Stop it, — she pulled free gently, frowning to mask the pain. — There it is again — you switch to doctor mode!

— Who else if not me? — he asked quietly, eyes locked on hers. — You think I won’t notice?

— You’re impossible, — she whispered, tapping his arm lightly.

— But you love me, don’t you? — he smirked, not moving away.

Bahar glanced around, making sure they were alone, then rose on tiptoe and kissed him quickly.

— Don’t forget your ultrasound, — he murmured against her lips, holding her close.

— No time, — she brushed it off and kissed him again, silencing him.

— I’ll make you find the time, — he muttered into her mouth. — At home, you’ll be at my mercy anyway. I’ll find a way to convince you. — Her eyes widened, lips parting —

And before she could argue, he stole a kiss, quick and demanding. She froze for a heartbeat, then pulled back.

— I need to see my patients, Professor Evren, — she said steadily, though her breath betrayed her.

— And what if I don’t want to let you go, Dr. Bahar? — he pressed, desperate after months of separation.

— You’ll have to, — she patted his shoulder, turned, and slipped back into the corridor.

Evren watched her go, knowing one thing for certain: something was troubling her. But what — it remained hidden from him.

***

He knew those regulations by heart. Sert Kaya stood by the glass display, silently studying it.

Bahar entered the staff room and froze. For several seconds, she simply watched his back — straight, rigid, as if carved from stone.

— Do you need help? — she asked.

— Dr. Bahar, — he said without turning.

— Yes, — she didn’t look away. — Familiarizing yourself with the protocols?

— Not everyone bothers to read them, — Sert slowly turned toward her.

Bahar pressed the tablet to her chest, holding his gaze. She didn’t know him — tall, older, lean — but she understood perfectly well that he was from the Council.

— You’re one of those who “feel,” — his voice carried so much coldness she nearly stepped back.

— I prefer to listen to the patient, not blindly follow instructions, — she replied with her usual bluntness.

— That’s exactly how mistakes happen! — he looked at her with a kind of detached curiosity.

— That’s exactly how miracles happen, — she shot back.

— Your miracles almost cost that girl her life, if the report is to be believed, — he remarked.

— The girl is alive! — she refused to look away.

— That’s no justification! — his tone was cutting.

— It’s a result! — she held her ground.

— There’s not a trace of fear in your eyes, — he stepped closer, the air seeming to thicken between them. — Good. — His presence loomed almost threateningly as he invaded her space. — Just don’t confuse confidence with impunity!

— And don’t confuse order with truth! — she replied evenly, her tone unwavering.

He studied her in silence. Something about her clearly both irritated and intrigued him. This woman wasn’t his kind — she didn’t fear, didn’t flatter, didn’t run.

— I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you, — he finally said.

— I’m not hiding, — Bahar answered calmly.

Sert Kaya held her gaze a long moment, then slowly turned and walked out. As soon as he left the staff room, Bahar allowed herself a breath.

— Mom, here you are! — Uraz burst inside.

Bahar instinctively hid her right hand behind her back. The moment she had dreaded all day had come — she looked into her son’s eyes, bracing for his accusations.

— Mert has a high fever! — Uraz’s eyes darted anxiously, and it was nothing like what she had expected to hear.

— What? — she stepped closer, her hand dropping to his. — What’s wrong with him?

— I don’t know, Siren can’t get it down, — his hands shook slightly. Now she understood why she hadn’t seen Siren all day — she hadn’t been at the hospital at all. — Can you help? I’m still tied up, the professor and Alya — — he never said his name.

— Of course, — her palm touched his cheek. — Uraz, calm down. I’ll just change, — she started toward the door. — And —

But she didn’t finish. She collided head-on with Sert Kaya in the doorway.

— So this is how you resolve things? — his voice turned icy. — Children first, then patients?