"You can really cure me?" Serena's voice trembled with desperate hope.
"Not just treat. Cure completely," I said, meeting her eyes directly. "Give me half a month, and you'll be walking again."
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the background chatter of the banquet seemed to fade away.
Eleanor Monroe gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "Half a month?"
"Two weeks," I confirmed. "Maybe less if you respond well to treatment."
Judge Monroe stepped closer, his legal mind clearly struggling to process what he was hearing. "Dr. Hayes, forgive me, but multiple specialists have confirmed that Serena's condition is terminal. Progressive muscular atrophy has no known cure."
"Known cure," I repeated. "That's the key phrase."
"You're saying you know something they don't?" Harrison pressed.
"I'm saying I was trained by someone who understood the human body in ways modern medicine has forgotten."
Serena wheeled her chair closer to me. "What would the treatment involve?"
