"'Refine it'," I repeat and then the words are ripping out me, straining against my throat.

"In case the first time doesn't work? How many tries will this take? How many tries can he take? Tell me this isn't going to be a gamble, nothing but trial and error! He may be resilient but he's not goddamn indestructible!"

It's not the noise that alerts me to the fact I've slammed my fist into medical table, with medical instruments on it, or even the sensation of a knuckle or two splitting open. It's the fact that several people are staring. I'm aware of it, but I just don't care.