The interior of the tent was cold, despite the heavy-duty heaters humming in the corners. Outside, the tropical rain had begun to fall, a rhythmic drumming against the canvas that sounded like a funeral march.
Inside, the men of the Chen family stood around a mahogany table, their faces illuminated by the stark, blue light of a projector.
Chen Shao, the eldest brother, stood at the head of the table. His shirt was rumpled, and his eyes were bloodshot, but his movements were precise as he tapped his tablet.
"Yan says she's stable," Chen Shao began, his voice like grinding stones. He didn't look up at his father or his younger brothers. "But he also said that if she had been in that water for five more minutes, we wouldn't be having this conversation. We would be planning a burial."
Chen Jue flinched at the word 'burial,' his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. Chen Heng, the patriarch, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the flickering blue light.
