Doctor's Rivalry Turns Deadly When Son Of Governor Poisoned At Dockside Tavern
Previously: A bitter feud between two doctors erupts as one saves a dying boy with a rustic antidote, exposing the other's arrogance and the deadly secret lurking in the harbor.
The Antidote and the Accusation
The tension in the dockside tavern snapped. Courtney Sterling, his face a mask of indignant fury, lunged to shove Tommy Vance off the bench. But Vance’s reflexes were honed by years of facing life-and-death scenarios far removed from sterile operating rooms. His calloused hand shot up, intercepting Sterling's wrist in a grip like an iron vise. The sharp *bone-thud* impact echoed through the room, arresting Sterling’s aggressive thrust mid-air. Sterling gasped, not just from the pain shooting up his arm, but from the sheer, unexpected force of Vance's counter.
"Step back, Sterling. His trachea is spasming and his pupils are completely unreactive."
Vance’s voice, usually calm, was now a cold, guttural intensity that brooked no argument. Sterling, momentarily paralyzed by pain and shock, could only stare as Vance’s keen eyes returned to Julian. He gently flipped the unconscious boy’s wrist beneath the warm lantern beam. There, almost invisible against the pale skin, were two tiny, blackened puncture marks, surrounded by an angry, purple swelling – necrotic edema.
"It's blue-ringed octotoxin from the dock cargo—your city intubation protocol would have suffocated him in thirty seconds!"
Vance’s diagnostic speed was terrifyingly precise. The words hit Sterling like a physical blow. The condescending smirk that usually adorned his face drained away, replaced by a mask of bloodless terror. His chin began to quiver as the catastrophic realization dawned: his arrogance, his dismissal of Vance’s expertise, had nearly cost the governor’s son his life. The sophisticated, untested methods of the city were useless against the raw, potent venom of the sea.
Vance released Sterling’s wrist with a dismissive shove. Without a word, he dropped to one knee and ripped open his scuffed leather satchel. He extracted a gleaming brass-and-glass syringe filled with an amber fluid, flicking the barrel with a sharp, resonant tap. Sterling, finding his voice in a stammering panic, blurted out, "Wait... you can't administer an unverified rustic antidote without lab approval!" Vance’s jaw clenched, his gaze locked on Julian's collapsing jugular vein. Approval was a luxury the dying boy didn't have.
”Approval was a luxury the dying boy didn't have.