There are no other sounds that should be distracting, yet the near-silence lets my mind fill the noise with words I heard earlier.
“Are we next?”
The words play in my mind again and again.
My hovering fingers are turning numb. My throat feels as though it’s closing. I log every sensation, but it doesn’t resolve the problem.
The MedBay doors slide open.
A controlled inhale leaves my lungs. I expect Idris. He said we would talk. I prepared to receive his voice, his warm presence, the exact calibration of calm he brings when mine is proving to be faulty.
But when I turn to face the door, it isn’t Idris who enters.
Nil walks in first. Stan follows close behind him.
“Oh good,” Stan says, “you’re breathin’ fine, doc. We were betting on it. Well, Nil was betting on it. I was betting you turned into a damsel in distress waiting for the right princes.”
My brows knit out of confusion over his rather lengthy greeting. But his light tone loosens the tightness in my chest.
Nil shoots him a look before turning toward me. His smile is smalland seems careful. “Hi, Em.”
My fingers ease slightly as I drop my hand down. “Hello,” I answer. “Are you two alright?”
Stan steps closer. “We’re doing alright, all things considered.”
Nil stands in front of me. “We came to check on you, Em.”
I open my mouth to reassure them, but nothing coherent forms. My body gives me away before I can control it. My breathing becomes a bit shallow, so I straighten, trying to correct it.
“Okay, whoa.” Stan waves a hand in my direction. “That’s the face of someone doing math to her own heartbeat.”
Nil angles his head down. “You look tired, Em,” he says. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m fine,” I say. The words should sound accurate, but they don’t feel honest.
Stan clicks his tongue. Nil frowns. I suppose they can tell I’m not being entirely honest.
Nil glances at my tablet. “You working on something?”
“Decision tree,” I say. “Dose suspension justification. It should be easy.”
“But lemme guess, it isn’t?” Stan asks.
I nod, not knowing what else to say when they’re focusing their questions on me.
Stan walks around the workstation, peering at the tablet’s screen. “Yeah, this looks like the opposite of easy. This looks like depression’s first draft.”
My brows pull together. I want to ask what that could possibly mean, but Nil’s voice eases the tension in my neck. “Em, we heard what Idris told the others. None of this is something you could have predicted.”
“Or prevented,” Stan adds. “Unless you’ve mastered time travel and forgot to mention it.”
Nil inches closer. “Sergio’s passing isn’t on you,” he whispers. “I know you know that logically, but…sometimes logic doesn’t help when your body decides to do its own thing.”
My throat is drier than before. I don’t trust my voice to hide my feelings. My eyes search Nil’s, until Stan speaks, drawing my attention.
“We’re not going to be as good as Idris is at this, but…” Stan leans in. “You look like you’re about to metabolize stress into a new element on the periodic table.”
My brows deepen. I want to tell him that’s not how it works, but Nil nods at Stan and says, “You don’t have to work right now, Em.”
