The sun began to rise, painting the sky with hues of soft pink and gold. Doctor Abernathy, his face etched with fatigue, checked Ryan for any signs of complications. He examined the wound, now bandaged and clean, his fingers probing gently, he found no signs of infection or further complications. He listened to Ryan's breathing, his brow furrowed in concentration. Thankfully it had normalized. His fever had subsided, but Ryan remained unconscious, his body still unresponsive.
Abernathy sighed, a sound of weary concern. Davis, who had been watching the doctor's every move, asked, his voice trembling, "What is it, Doctor?"
"He must be in so much pain," Abernathy replied, his voice low and grave, "that his body doesn't want to wake up."
Davis's eyes widened, fear gripping his heart. "Will he wake up?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest.
