“Dad,” Ethan whispered, eyes lifting. “Please. Just let her try.”

Jonathan hesitated.

Then he nodded to the waiter.

The girl sat down gratefully and introduced herself as Lila Carter. When the plate arrived, she ate quickly but politely, like someone who knew hunger too well.

When she finished, she wiped her hands and looked up.

“Can we go somewhere quieter?” she asked. “I need space.”

Reluctantly, Jonathan wheeled Ethan to the small park behind the restaurant. The air was still, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grass.

Lila knelt in front of Ethan and gently rolled up one pant leg. Her hands were firm, precise—nothing childish about them. She began pressing and stretching the muscles in slow, deliberate movements.

Jonathan folded his arms. “This is pointless.”

Ethan inhaled sharply.

“Dad,” he said, surprised. “It feels… strange. But not bad. Different.”

Lila nodded, focused. “His nerves are still alive. It’s the muscles that are failing. They’re being shut down.”

Jonathan frowned. “That’s not what the doctors said.”

“They gave him pills,” Lila replied quietly. “Pills that make him cold. Tired. Heavy.”

Jonathan’s jaw tightened. “What pills?”