Episode 1

The hospital smelled of disinfectant and sadness. That's what Dr. Mendez always said with exhausted laughter when we left the operating room after twelve straight hours. I usually laughed with him, but tonight I didn't feel like it. My fingers were trembling after having sutured for the fifth time so far that day, and the knot of tension in the back of my neck seemed to have decided to stay there and live.

It had been only three days since I received the news: I was no longer a resident. I was officially a staff surgeon. I had dreamed of it for years. Years of insomnia, of studying while others slept, of sacrificing dinners, relationships, birthdays, Christmases... all to get to this point. And yet, tonight all I wanted was a hot shower, a glass of wine, and to turn off my brain.

I took off my coat, put my stethoscope in my bag, and went down to the underground parking lot with slow steps. The echo of my heels on the concrete accompanied me, solitary. As soon as I put the key in the car lock, I felt the cold click of something metallic on the back of my neck.

"Don't scream," said a deep voice, as if someone had smoked all their life and still wanted their voice to sound calm and melodious.

I froze. I thought about running, screaming, and above all that I was going to die.

"Get in the car. Drive where we tell you. And don't do anything stupid."

Three men, all dressed in black. One got into the back seat. Another sat next to me. The third disappeared into the darkness of the parking lot.

I obeyed, started the car, and drove where they told me.

The city lights faded with each street. We crossed bridges, highways, and roads. When the cell phone signal died, I understood that they were taking me very far. I couldn't say how much time had passed since my nerves had taken over, but the landscape became increasingly rural, then wooded, until a black and elegant gate appeared in front of us. The gate opened without anyone touching it, as if they were waiting for us.

The mansion, a little further from the gates, stood like a postcard from a Victorian nightmare. It had the beauty of something old... and the chill of something dangerous.

They got me out without speaking. They escorted me through carpeted corridors, illuminated by dim lamps and old paintings that seemed to watch me. Finally, a double door opened in front of me.

I was greeted by a woman.

Tall, with skin like porcelain and lips as red as a crime. She wore a long, fitted dress, without a single wrinkle. Her hair was chestnut brown, straight, impeccable. And her presence filled the room as if she were queen of something I couldn't understand.

"Doctor Alejandra Rivas," she said with a firm and melodious voice. "What a pleasure to have you with us so soon."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My mouth was a complete desert.

She smiled, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Relax. We're not going to hurt you here."

The men around me tensed, but didn't move.

"What... what is this? Who are you?"

She took a couple of steps towards me. Her perfume was expensive and enveloping, like jasmine on a toxic night.

"We heard that you are one of the most promising surgeons in the country. You won the national award for medical innovation in laparoscopic surgery six months ago. Your thesis was published in two international journals. And you saved the life of Senator Pranfor's son after a car accident."

"How do you know...?"

"We have eyes where we need to have them. And now... we need your hands."

The door behind her opened. Two men entered, carrying a stretcher. On it, an motionless body. Covered in blood. With several makeshift bandages and a metallic smell that made me recoil. The patient's face was covered, but I could see his bare torso, his tattoos... and the wounds.

"I present to you Mr. Reginald," said the woman with a certain nostalgia in her voice. "Our boss. Our king, my son, and your new patient."

"This is madness. Take him to the hospital, I'm not a private clinic, I..."

"There is no hospital that can receive him without everyone in the waiting room ending up dead, darling."

She clapped her hands and the men pushed me towards the stretcher.

"What we are going to tell you now must be very clear," the woman whispered, leaning close to me, so close that I felt the brush of her lips on my ear. "You are not leaving here until he is healed, and if he dies, you die with him. So don't even think about letting him die, understand?"

I swallowed.

I nodded.

Because the only thing stronger than my fear... was the oath I had made years ago in front of an auditorium full of doctors and relatives: To heal. Do no harm. Save lives.

Even that of a possible criminal.

Even if it meant risking mine.

"I'll need an operating room. Light. Instruments. Suture. Morphine. Antibiotics. And an anesthetist."

The woman applauded slowly, as if I had just done a magic trick.

"I knew that choosing you was the right thing to do."

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