The call came from Pediatrics at 2:11 a.m.
Dr. Lim answered it on the second ring.
"We have a six-year-old female," the attending said quietly. "Congenital cardiopulmonary failure. Multiple interventions failed. She coded twice tonight."
Lim closed her eyes.
"I'll notify Dr. Murphy," she said.
Elias arrived without urgency—but without delay.
The pediatric ICU was hushed in the way only rooms holding children ever were. Machines beeped softly, as if afraid to be too loud. A small body lay in the bed, swallowed by tubes and wires.
Her name was Emily Reyes.
Her mother sat beside her, hands clasped tightly together, eyes red from crying.
"They said you might come," the woman whispered when she saw Elias. "They said you're the one."
Elias knelt beside the bed.
He looked at Emily.
Inside, he saw the truth instantly—heart malformed beyond surgical norms, lungs unable to sustain oxygen exchange, circulation collapsing under strain that no body that young should ever endure.
The system had given up.
"I can help her," Elias said gently.
The mother sobbed. "Please."
The operating room was prepared in silence.
No one argued.
No one questioned.
Everyone understood the weight of this case.
Shaun stood across from Elias, eyes fixed on the monitors.
"Probability of survival without intervention is zero," Shaun said.
"Yes."
"Standard intervention probability is also zero."
"Yes."
Shaun hesitated. "Your intervention probability?"
Elias met his gaze. "One hundred percent."
Shaun nodded once.
"Then proceed."
The surgery began.
Elias opened the chest with a precision that seemed almost reverent. He moved carefully—not because he needed to, but because the body beneath his hands was small and fragile.
"Retract," he said softly.
The heart was exposed.
Malformed. Overworked. Failing.
Elias' golden eyes traced every defect simultaneously—seeing blood flow patterns, oxygen deficits, structural weaknesses, cellular fatigue.
He corrected them all.
He reconstructed the heart's architecture in real time, reshaping chambers, restoring symmetry, rewriting physiology without hesitation or error. The lungs followed—alveoli stabilized, capillary exchange normalized.
The monitors responded like they'd been waiting for permission.
"Heart rate steady."
"Oxygen saturation rising."
"Pressure stabilizing—this is… impossible."
Elias didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Two hours later, the surgery ended.
Emily's heart beat strong and steady.
For the first time since her birth, her body functioned the way it was always meant to.
The mother waited outside the OR, fingers locked together.
When Elias emerged, she stood instantly.
"She's stable," he said. "She'll wake up soon. She'll live a full life."
The woman collapsed against him, sobbing.
"Thank you," she cried. "Thank you—"
Elias supported her gently until she could stand on her own.
"You're welcome," he said.
News spread before morning.
"CHILD WITH TERMINAL CONDITION SAVED BY DR. ELIAS MURPHY."
This time, the hospital didn't deny it.
They didn't need to.
Outside, reporters gathered again—but the tone had shifted.
Hope replaced suspicion.
Inside, nurses smiled openly when Elias passed.
Shaun found Elias later in the quiet of the diagnostics wing.
"You did something statistically impossible," Shaun said.
"Yes."
"You didn't hesitate."
"No."
Shaun studied him. "I find that reassuring."
Elias smiled.
"So do I."
That afternoon, a familiar name appeared in Elias' inbox.
From: Celeste Laurent-WuSubject: Pediatric Case
You saved her.
They're going to try to make you a symbol now.
Symbols attract enemies.
Call me.
Elias read the message once.
Then he typed a reply.
I prefer to remain a doctor.
But I appreciate the warning.
Thank you.
The reply came seconds later.
Dinner. Tonight. Public place.
We should talk.
Elias paused.
Not because he was unsure.
Because this, finally, was something new.
Agreed.
That evening, Emily woke up.
She smiled.
Her heart beat strong.
And somewhere in the city, two forces that never lost—one in medicine, one in law—were about to sit across from each other for the first time outside a battlefield.
The world would feel the consequences later.
For now, a child lived.
And that was enough