Inside the waiting room, Clyde was going insane.
From the outside, he looked composed. He sat upright on the narrow hospital bench, long legs slightly apart, hands resting on his knees. His coat was still immaculate despite the chaos of the evening. His expression was calm, almost cold. Anyone who did not know him would think he was merely waiting.
But inside, something was splintering.
The longer the red light above the operating room stayed on, the tighter the invisible grip around his heart became. Time had turned viscous. Each minute stretched unnaturally long, as if deliberately mocking him.
At first, Clyde had forced himself to remain rational.
