The chaos of the crash cart had subsided, replaced by the rhythmic, sluggish beep of the heart monitor. Dr. Maya Khan stepped back from the bed, pulling her stethoscope from her ears. She looked at Victoria, then at William and Malcolm.
“I’ve managed to stabilize the arrhythmia,” Maya said softly, her voice heavy with professional resignation. “But the damage to the heart muscle is catastrophic. The stress of the confession, combined with the months of atrophy… his heart simply doesn’t have the strength to pump anymore.”
Beatrice let out a small, stifled sound from the corner of the room.
“Is there anything else we can do?” William asked, though he already knew the answer.
“We can keep him comfortable,” Maya replied, adjusting the morphine drip. “But he isn’t going to bounce back from this. He’s in the transition phase. You should say your goodbyes now.”
The room seemed to shrink. The “Titan” who had cast a shadow over their lives for forty years was now just a dying man under a sheet, his breathing shallow and labored.