I can't stay seated. The waiting room suddenly feels claustrophobic. The off-white walls, the too-bright fluorescents, the oak coffee table displaying an array of gloss-covered magazines. It's all too much.

I stand. I pace.

For a moment, I stop at the fish tank and watch an orange and white clownfish as it swims by an algae-covered castle. But the way the light bends through the thick glass makes me momentarily nauseous and I look away.

I hate waiting rooms. Even though a buzz whirs down from the overhead vent, the air seems permanently heavy with anticipation.

"Charlie, you're making me anxious," Renee says, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

"What do you think is happening?" I ask, though I know she doesn't have any more answers than I do.

"No way to know," Alex replies, their voice flat with worry.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of fear.

There are other people in the waiting room. Individuals and couples. Some are reading, others are whispering to each other. As much as I'd welcome the distraction of people-watching, I can't focus on them. My mind won't let me rest.

"I'll be back," I say, walking through the archway and wandering out into the hall.

A placard on the wall tells me that one way leads to exam rooms. Down that direction there is also a sign for an elevator and ones for restrooms. And. before a corner, two vending machines are pressed against the wall.

The other way leads to the double-doors that Harry disappeared through. Large red letters say "Authorized Personnel Only," and it's guarded by a nurse's station.

An empty nurse's station.

I step closer to the doors and look through the narrow rectangular window but can't see anything but a dim hallway that leads to other rooms.

Then, a man wearing a surgical mask and cap comes around a corner and starts hustling towards me.

I push my back against the wall as he comes through the door and rushes past. Without thinking, I slip through the doors before they close.

When they shut, I am shrouded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and washed over by the low hum of machinery.

Keeping to the wall, I tiptoe towards the operating rooms. The first one is empty, but the second one is not. When I peek through the observation window, I see both Dr. Thorne and Dr. Kim.

High-tech equipment surrounds Harry, and a tube is coming out of his mouth. The surgeons move around him with focused precision. The room is a maze of sleek machines and monitors, the sterile white walls reflecting the harsh overhead lights.

My heart races as I watch them work, trying to keep my mind from imagining the worst.

This is our only chance. If this fails...

I can't think like that. I have to believe he'll make it through this.

I strain to hear, catching snippets of their conversation. Words like "complexity" and "embedded" slip through the door, and I see the surgeons exchange worried glances. Dr. Thorne shakes his head slightly, his expression hidden but tense.

What's going on in there?

Please, Harry, hang in there.

I turn away from the window, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me.

Dread seeps into my core. I shouldn't be here. This is wrong. I can't be alone.

I make my way back to the waiting room, slipping past the still-empty nurse's station, and settle down into a chair next to Alex and Renee.

"Where'd you disappear to?" Renee asks.

I just shake my head, unable to form a coherent response.

As we sit there, Alex's fingers tap nervously on their leg, while Renee stares at the floor, biting her nails.

After a few minutes, I stand back up, thinking about the vending machines I saw.

"Want anything?" I ask, trying to distract myself. "I think I'll get a snack."

Alex shakes their head, then leans forward to grab a magazine off the center table, but Renee nods. "Sure, something to munch on might help."

I walk over to the vending machine, which offers an array of snacks and drinks. The machine's interface is touch-sensitive, displaying nutritional information and even suggesting healthy choices. I select a few items and return to our seats.

As I hand Renee a pack of nuts, I notice a couple sitting across from us. Two men. They're holding hands, the taller man rubbing his thumb soothingly over his partner's knuckles. When a nurse calls one of their names, they share a quick kiss before the shorter man follows the nurse down the hallway towards the exam rooms. The sight is both heartwarming and bittersweet, a reminder of the normalcy we're fighting for.

"Did you see that?" I whisper to Alex and Renee, nodding toward the couple.

Renee smiles softly. "Yeah. It's nice to see people being themselves without fear."

Alex, who's been flipping through a magazine, looks up at me. "Look at this," they say, showing me an article about advancements in transition surgery. The headline reads: "Solistad Leads the Way in Gender-Affirming Healthcare."

I take the magazine, skimming through the article. It details the latest techniques and technologies being used to make transition surgeries safer and more accessible. The procedures described in the article make the gene therapy that the Queer Rebels made me look archaic.

"This place really is different," I murmur. "They actually use their technology to make people's lives better. Not just to control them."

Renee leans over to read along. "Imagine if Dimstad could be like this. If everyone could be accepted for who they are."

A pang of longing hits me. "That's what we're fighting for, right? A world where everyone can live without fear."

We fall into a reflective silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. The waiting room's calm atmosphere does help, but the worry still lingers just beneath the surface.

"I hope Harry can see this," Alex says quietly. "I hope he gets to experience this kind of acceptance."

I nod, the weight of their words settling over me. "He will. We have to believe that."

The minutes stretch on, the tension growing with each passing second. The muffled sounds of the hospital—soft footsteps, distant conversations, the hum of machinery—only seem to heighten my anxiety. I glance at the clock, willing time to move faster.

Again, I can't take the waiting any longer. Can't stay still.

"I'm heading to the bathroom," I lie, standing up. "I'll be back."

Renee nods. "We'll be here."

I step out into the hallway and walk back towards the large double-doors. This time, through the slit of glass, I see someone standing on the other side.

It's Dr. Kim, and even in the dim light, I can tell her expression is serious.

My stomach drops.

She looks up and notices me. Then she walks forward and pushes one door open, staying in the threshold.

"Everything okay?" I ask, my heart pounding. Why is she out here? Has Harry...

I can't finish the thought.

"We're doing our best," she replies. "But this procedure is extremely delicate. We need to remove the device, but it's more complicated than we anticipated."

I nod, trying to keep the panic at bay. They are still performing the surgery, which means there is still hope.

"Is there anything we can do?" I ask, even though I know it's a ridiculous question.

"Just stay positive," she says. "Harry needs all the strength he can get right now."

Then she turns around, the door shutting.

I return to the waiting room and share the update with Alex and Renee. We sit together, the tension thick between us. The hope that Solistad's advanced technology can save Harry is all that keeps me going.

As time continues to drag on, I find my mind drifting back to Harry's implant and how it connected with Solistad's antennas.

If Harry's device could do that, does that mean that my com-device could also connect? It's a slim chance, but it's worth trying.

I pull out my com-device from my pocket and compose a message to Marcy: we made it to solistad harry is in surgery and not sure how things are going but i am worried i miss you and love you and hope you are safe

I hit send, and for a moment, I'm not sure if the message went through. But then, the device gives a small beep, and an icon lets me know it has been sent. A flicker of hope ignites in my chest.

Maybe she'll get it.

Maybe she'll reply.

I glance at the clock, willing time to move faster. Both to see if Marcy will write back, and to hear if Harry's surgery is over.

Just as I'm about to check my com-device for a response, the double doors in the hallway open. Dr. Thorne and Dr. Kim step around the corner into the waiting room, their expressions grim.

My stomach ties itself into a knot, a mix of fear and anticipation washing over me.

"We need to talk," Dr. Thorne says, his voice heavy with unspoken words.

Alex, Renee, and I exchange nervous glances but comply, following them out into the hallway, and then away from the operating room. We walk past the vending machines and down a series of corridors, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me.

Finally, we're led into a small consultation room. It's sparsely decorated and only has a few chairs and one shaded lamp that casts an orange glow across the bland walls and a dark rug. Dr. Thorne and Dr. Kim sit down, motioning for us to do the same.

I can barely breathe. Because, if there is one thing I know, this is not a room for sharing good news.

Something is definitely wrong.