"What did the doctor really say?"
Heather didn't look at him. She didn't need to. She already knew he had lied. It was in the way he had smiled earlier, a smile too soft and too careful, like it had been practiced in a mirror.
It was in the evenness of his tone, the way he held eye contact for just long enough to seem confident, but not long enough to show vulnerability.
He had lied, and she wasn't asking to confirm it—she was asking to hear the truth from his own mouth.
Caius didn't answer right away.
He looked at her, then at the floor, then finally exhaled like the words were made of metal lodged in his chest.
"Alex might die," he said quietly.
Her heart seized. A sudden pressure rose up inside her, as if someone had reached into her chest and squeezed.
"Might?" she repeated, her voice thin and barely there.
Caius swallowed. "He has a brain tumor."
