Morning light crept through the narrow slats of the ICU blinds, casting stripes of pale gold across Ryan Ashworth's unmoving form. The rhythm of the machines—heart monitor, ventilator, IV pump—created a fragile symphony, the only sign he was still clinging to life. In that hush, Jane Blackwood stood sentinel.
As CEO of Santal Essence, India's premier beauty house founded on her family's legendary red sandalwood exports to the United States, Jane knew the power of supply chains and discretion better than most. Yet today, that expertise served a far more urgent purpose. She slipped into the room, her tailored charcoal suit contrasting against the sterile white walls. Her grey eyes were steady, determined.
She stopped beside Ryan's bed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Ryan," she whispered, pressing his hand to her cheek. "You're not alone."
Behind her, Eleanor Reyes—Jane's right hand and secretary extraordinaire—watched over a tablet loaded with critical files. Jane turned. "Eleanor, status report."
Eleanor's fingers danced across the screen. "Dr. Carter's notes: vital signs remain unstable. Sedation is minimal. He could awaken in anywhere from one to three months—or remain comatose." She paused, eyes sympathetic. "Transport risks decompensation, but infection rates climb daily. All paperwork is signed. Air ambulance departs JFK in thirty-six hours. ICU suite at Mumbai General is reserved."
Jane nodded, steeling herself. "Proceed. Prepare diplomatic waivers, import clearances, and ensure no public leak. This transfer is non-negotiable."
Eleanor tapped again. "Understood. Customs broker is on standby using our red sandalwood freight code—private corridor, no inspection."
Jane offered a grateful smile. "Excellent. Notify Dr. Carter we'll depart as scheduled." Eleanor bowed and slipped out.
Jane returned to Ryan's side, smoothing his blanket. "You'll be safe, Ryan. I promise." She pressed a kiss to his temple before stepping into the corridor.
The previous year had seen Jane shuttle between board meetings in Mumbai and emergency calls from New York. When she wasn't overseeing product launches or negotiating supply contracts for her family's red sandalwood business—vital ingredients in the world's top beauty lines—she maintained a quiet network of contacts: private investigators, local fixers, discreet informants. Logan, her Mumbai logistics partner, had tracked every whisper of Ryan's ordeal. Simone, her New York liaison, filed nightly reports on hospital admissions. Those reports grew darker when word of the alley shooting reached Jane's desk. She vowed then to stand guard, even from thousands of miles away.
Dr. Emily Carter found Jane in the ICU lounge just after noon, chart in hand and concern etched in her features. "Ms. Blackwood, I appreciate your dedication, but I must advise caution. He's one misstep from crashing—clots, infection, pulmonary failure…"
Jane folded her arms. "Doctor, with all due respect, you said the same at dawn. Every hour here is a gamble. His life is at risk—more so if we wait."
Dr. Carter's expression softened. She glanced at the sheet. "Sedation wean is proceeding well. We can attempt to monitor him during transport, but there's no guarantee."
Jane leaned forward, voice quiet but resolute. "No guarantee is worse than a controlled risk. He needs to be with people he trusts."
Dr. Carter hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. I'll brief the transport team. They'll need full medical documentation."
Jane offered a cool smile. "Thank you. I'll handle the rest."
Back in Jane's mobile command center—a closed-door office on the hospital's top floor—she and Eleanor cross-checked every detail. A digital map traced the route: New York's grid beneath them, the Atlantic's expanse, and Mumbai's glowing outline at the horizon.
Eleanor tapped flight manifests. "ECMO machine installed, right-side EKG leads, full ICU monitoring. Captain Rao confirmed. Dr. Singh and two critical care nurses will accompany us."
Jane nodded, scanning the lines. "Ensure sedation levels are adjustable in-flight. If he shows signs of distress, we intervene immediately. Double-check meds, IV lines, everything."
Eleanor smiled with admiration. "Never thought you'd treat this like a product launch."
Jane let out a wry laugh. "It's a matter of life and death. I've built this company on precision—now I apply the same standards to saving a life."
Later, Jane returned to Ryan's side as the afternoon sun slanted in. He lay still, eyes closed, yet she detected a faint pulse of warmth in his hand. She spoke softly as if revealing a secret. "We're moving tomorrow. I'll be there, every second." She straightened, pacing the quiet room. "Eleanor, confirm customs release is active."
Eleanor appeared at the door. "Green light until we land. No hold-ups."
Jane exhaled. "Good. Notify logistics: Mercedes escort in Mumbai, ICU team on standby. I'll fly in with them."
Eleanor offered a reassuring nod and slipped away. Jane watched her friend's chest rise and fall—an uncertain promise of life.
Evening, the Hospital Lounge
Under soft fluorescent lights, Jane and Eleanor huddled with steaming tea. Jane's family crest—two red sandalwood branches—sat framed on the wall.
Eleanor stirred her tea. "You've negotiated supply contracts with the U.S., rebuilt our brand in Europe, and now this."
Jane traced the crest with her fingertip. "Red sandalwood taught me the power of patience and discretion. That's what Ryan needs now—a silent shield." She took a slow sip. "I'm his shield."
Eleanor's gaze was steady. "He'll wake, Jane."
Jane allowed herself a small smile. "I'll be waiting."
Late Night, ICU Corridor
Jane found Nurse Patel checking Ryan's charts again. The nurse looked up, somber. "He's holding steady. No sign of infection yet, but we're near the limit."
Jane inclined her head. "Keep me informed. I don't leave his side again."
Nurse Patel gave a respectful nod. "Understood, Ms. Blackwood."