Outside Rayne Clinic, rainwater dripped along the metal edge of the sign, reflecting a dim yellow glow.
Ethan Rayne had just seen off his last patient and was organizing the medical instruments on his desk.
Under the yellowish light, the air thick with the smell of alcohol, he habitually peeled off his gloves, planning to turn off the lights and head home.
Suddenly, chaotic footsteps echoed from outside—
Bang! Bang bang bang!
"Open up!" The pounding and shouting were as urgent as debt collectors—no trace of politeness.
Ethan's movements stopped. His brow furrowed slightly.
He slowly turned toward the door, his hands instinctively beginning to gather power.
The air rippled faintly. A subtle shadow writhed in his palms.
"Troublemaking thugs?"
He thought to himself, though his gaze remained calm. "Not a big problem."
A moment later, he stopped.
There were quite a few people outside—at least five or six. If that many people suddenly disappeared, it could create unnecessary complications.
The shadows in his palms slowly dissipated. He stepped forward and unlocked the door.
The door slammed open with a bang, and a rush of cold, damp air mixed with the stench of blood poured inside.
Several men rushed in carrying someone, their clothes soaked through and covered in blood.
"Doctor! Help him!"
The leader was a man with fierce eyes—Billy Buck. Ethan had heard of him.
"Gunshot wound." Ethan's gaze quickly swept over the injury. "He's lost too much blood. You should take him to a hospital."
"Hospitals won't take us—and even if they did, they'd call the cops!" Billy suppressed his anger. "He's dying right here. You gonna help or not?"
Ethan didn't move, only stared at them coldly. "I have no obligation to get involved in gang business."
The air froze for several seconds. A few of the lackeys instinctively reached for the guns at their waists.
Ethan's fingertips twitched slightly—shadow energy stirred once more.
Behind the group of thugs, another figure emerged. She wore a black trench coat, her hair drenched with rain, her eye makeup slightly smudged—but it didn't stop Ethan from recognizing her as a beautiful young woman.
She ignored the men and walked straight toward Ethan.
"I'm Mary Mason. Medical student, surgical track."
She said tersely, "I need a surgical lamp, hemostatic clamps, and a clean table."
Ethan froze.
The name flashed through his mind—Mary Mason.
American Mary. That med student who, after being raped by her professor, turned into a dark underground cosmetic surgeon.
That movie had left quite an impression on him.
"You want to operate here?" Ethan hesitated, unsure whether this was before or after her descent into darkness.
"He's been shot in the chest. Five more minutes and he'll go into cardiac arrest." Mary answered calmly, her eyes clear and without fear.
Ethan was silent for a few seconds. The shadows in his palms dispersed completely.
"Operating table's over there. Alcohol and sutures are on the left side of the sink."
Mary nodded and immediately shed her coat, revealing the black outfit she'd worn to her interview.
"I'll operate. You assist."
Ethan couldn't help glancing her up and down. "Alright."
The surgical lamp flared to life, casting harsh light across both their faces.
On the operating table, Mary seemed like a different person. She pulled on gloves and looked down at the wound torn open by the bullet.
She took a breath. "Clamp."
Ethan handed her the tool and could feel her momentary tremor.
Mary didn't look up. Her movements were clean and efficient.
She first wiped away the surrounding blood with gauze, exposing the interior of the wound—a radiating tear, flesh peeling back.
"Bullet's lodged near the ribs. Right side." She muttered her assessment.
"Breathing's shallow. Heart rate's unstable." Ethan watched the patient's chest, pressing his hand against the artery. "I'll hold pressure."
Mary nodded.
The blade pressed down, cutting through skin and flesh with a soft, wet resistance.
Blood welled up. She immediately pressed down on the artery with one hand while using forceps to probe the wound with the other.
"Stay calm," Ethan couldn't help reminding her.
"I am calm." Mary's breathing remained steady, though sweat slid down her temple.
She shifted slightly, and the forceps touched something hard and metallic.
"Found it."
The bullet was embedded behind the rib, tightly wrapped in blood and tissue.
Mary changed angles, the tip of her blade carefully peeling away the adhered flesh bit by bit.
Bright red liquid ran down the incision.
"A little more to the left." Ethan wiped the blood from her hands with gauze. "Breathing's getting weaker."
"I know." Her voice was low and focused.
The forceps twisted gently—for a split second, the scrape of metal against bone was almost nauseating.
"Got it!"
Mary lifted the forceps. The bullet gleamed coldly under the light.
Clink—
The bullet dropped into a metal tray, ringing out sharply and echoing through the room.
After a second of silence, Ethan released his grip and quickly grabbed alcohol and suture needles.
Mary's hands began moving again. The only sound in the clinic was the soft tap-tap of the needle piercing skin.
The bleeding stopped. Breathing returned to a steady rhythm.
As she tied off the final stitch, Mary finally removed her gloves and said quietly, "He should make it."
Ethan wiped down the table with gauze, checked the wound, and confirmed breathing was stable.
"Clean work," he commented.
Mary swayed slightly, leaning against the counter. She caught her breath, her voice hoarse. "Thanks for the assist."
"I just provided the space." Ethan said lightly. "You could've done it alone without me."
At that moment, Billy stepped forward. He stared at his guy, saw that the bleeding had stopped and his chest was still rising and falling, and finally let out a breath of relief.
"Nice job!"
He pulled a thick stack of bills from his coat and slapped them on the table.
"As promised. Five thousand bucks. Split it between you two."
Ethan didn't reach for it. He only said, "He needs to stay here overnight. Can't be moved right now."
Billy smiled. "Whatever you say." He pocketed his cigarette and nodded. "Doc, Mary—you two are solid."
The men left.
The clinic returned to silence once more.
Under the lights, Mary leaned against the wall, looking at the stack of bills. "Can we split it fifty-fifty?"
Ethan: "Fine by me. Though—maybe you should put your clothes back on?"
Mary froze, instinctively looking down. She quickly grabbed her trench coat from the chair and put it on, running her fingers through her hair. She couldn't help asking:
"This is Rayne Clinic? You're Dr. Rayne?"
He looked at her and extended his right hand. "Ethan Rayne."
Mary shook it lightly. "Well then... successful collaboration tonight."
Mary's phone suddenly vibrated, jolting her out of the memory.
She picked it up. A text message:
**[Billy: Tonight at nine. Lots of clients. Good tips.]**
She stared at it for a few seconds, then put her phone away.
Ethan asked casually, "Going to Billy's again tonight? To dance?"
"Yeah."
"The stage lights there are way too bright," Ethan said. "Bad for your eyes."
"Thanks for the concern, Dr. Rayne. I've got rent to pay."
Mary set down the instruments she'd been holding and walked to the counter.
"I only dance there because they pay cash."
"I know."
"You don't think it's shameful, do you?"
"Why would I?" Ethan shook his head. "Making money's nothing to be ashamed of."
"What?"
"I mean, as long as you're not robbing banks, I'm supportive."
She laughed softly. "Those are your words. Remember what you just said."
He smiled faintly. "A man stands by his word."
Mary's gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds before quickly looking away.
"I'm heading back to class." Before closing the door, she added, "You owe me... let's see, $1,760!"