My ears rang. My vision blurred, like my body was trying to protect me from hearing the rest. He turned slightly, like he might check if I was listening—then walked farther into the hallway, lowering his voice. But it was too late. I’d already heard everything.
The truth wasn’t a knife—it was a slow, cold burn.
He came back a minute later, casual like nothing had happened. Tossed on his jacket.
“I got a sit-down with Santino’s crew,” he said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Could turn into a war if I don’t show. I’ll be back early though. Don’t worry—go watch your shows, rest up a bit. I’ll be home before dinner.”
Liar!
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
He leaned down, fixed the blanket around me like I was a child, kissed my forehead like I was his home. And then he left. And the door didn’t just close behind him. It buried me.
Then I turned and signed the damn paper.
Organ donor.
---
I went to the Hospital alone. Dr. Alex slid it back toward her and gave me this soft, cautious look. She was pale, well-dressed, probably a few years older than me, and completely out of place in the underworld we floated through.