The medical tent snapped with tension thick enough to cut. Yu lay unconscious on the cot—pale, breathing shallow—as Talon's private doctor hovered nearby, examining him with trembling professionalism.
Talon stood directly behind the doctor, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white.
Isaac stood at the tent's entrance, blocking it like a guard dog with anger in his eyes. The doctor cleared his throat.
"Well… his vitals are stable. No sign of dehydration, no heatstroke, no fever. It could possibly be stress-induced fainting. He should be alright once he rests."
Talon's eyes were sharp enough to stab.
"That's not good enough…"
He said coldly.
"You are the top physician in your field. You should be telling me exactly what's wrong with him."
The doctor blanched.
"Naturally, Mr. Hawkins. But with the equipment available—"
"Figure it out!"
Talon hissed. Isaac stepped forward, posture stiff.
"Back off. Yu needs quiet, not you breathing down the doctor's neck."
