New York's nights were never peaceful. Every night, this bustling city on the East Coast staged climactic dramas that never came to an end. Gentle moonlight could not slow the hurried footsteps of passersby, nor could the cool night breeze soothe their restless hearts.
Schiller strode into the laboratory. Connors frowned when he saw him, but Schiller gave nothing away. He merely asked, "Stephen came looking for you?"
"Yes, about his brother." Connors was blunt. Pushing up his glasses, he said, "Hereditary genetic disorders are indeed troublesome, but Nick found him a perfectly suitable liver donor. I wanted to give him some healing serum, but he refused. He is very proud of his surgical skills."
Hearing that Strange had not taken the healing serum from Connors, Schiller frowned slightly. After exchanging a few pleasantries with Connors, he left the ward.
The sound of leather shoes striking the empty floor echoed continuously. Cold light spilling from the hospital rooms mingled with the moonlight outside as a tall, slender figure passed through the corridors of Presbyterian Hospital and arrived at the conference room where the final consultation had been held.
When he entered, everyone looked at him with some surprise, because he was carrying a notebook and a pen—things usually brought only by medical students sitting in on consultations.
But he ignored their stares and calmly took a seat. Looking up at the screen at the front, he wore the earnest expression of a student attending a major consultation for the first time.
In S.H.I.E.L.D.'s corridors, Schiller brushed past Natasha. The female agent glanced at his expression, raised an eyebrow, and looked intrigued, while Schiller headed straight for Nick Fury's office.
"Nick, I wanted to confirm something. There shouldn't be any problem with the liver donor for Stephen's brother, right?" Schiller asked,