ALEXANDER I stayed by the bed, watching Faye try to steady her breathing. It wasn’t getting better in any way I could immediately fix. That was the problem. This wasn’t a wound you could bind. Not an infection you could name. Not something you could confront head–on and expect it to yield. It was internal. Unpredictable. And worse–progressing. My mind kept moving, trying to force structure onto something that refused it. Dr. Adams. That was the first thought that came. But even as it formed, I knew the limitation of it. Adams was good with conditions that had clear markers–clear symptoms, clear paths of treatment. This- I wasn’t even sure how to describe it in a way that wouldn’t sound...
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