Damascus Army Hospital.
In that tightly guarded special ward area.
Time seemed to have frozen, yet also seemed to be passing at double speed.
Outside the window, the night in the Syrian capital was still intermittently echoing with sporadic gunfire and cannon blasts, while inside was suffocating anticipation.
Song Heping was like a meditating monk, spending most of his time quietly watching the news online or standing by the window, staring at the distant dark skyline.
In stark contrast to him was President Hafez.
The nation's top leader, at this moment, was like a lion trapped in a cage, pacing anxiously in the ward.
One after another, bad news arrived through encrypted channels, each like a whip lashing at his nerves.
"Idlib... lost..."
When a trusted aide responsible for security brought this news, Hafez's hand holding the phone trembled slightly.
