The man also moves like a cat. A very large, very dangerous cat who happens to turn into the most dangerous creature this side of reality at whim.
“You left class?” The words come out slightly more accusatory than I mean.
“They’re college students taking an exam, not toddlers.” He steps into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Even if the distinction is sometimes unclear.”
I turn back to the copier, fishing out the crumpled page that caused the jam. “I’ll have the copies ready in a few minutes.”
“I’m not worried about the copies.” He moves to stand beside me, watching as I smooth out the paper. “I’m worried aboutyou. Have you been sleeping?”
The question is quiet and unexpectedly gentle.
I don’t answer right away. Just stare at the copier as it resumes its whirring, pages sliding out one by one into the output tray.
“About as well as you can when one of your mates is slowly turning into the thing he hates most,” I mutter.
“Last I checked, he wasn’t turning into me.”
I glance up at him. “Was that ajoke?”
“I do make them occasionally.” He leans against the ancient copier, looking as obnoxiously refined as ever. The dark circles under his eyes are gone, I realize. “Most people don’t notice.”
“You do kind of have that whole bone-dry sense of humor thing going on,” I say with a snort. “Is that a dragon thing?”
His blank expression cracks at the corners of his mouth. “More of a British thing, really. But I’m serious. How are you holding up?”
“Killian seems off,” I say finally. “Since he woke up. He’s…” I stop, trying to gather thoughts I’ve spent nearly a week burying. “He keeps looking at me like he’s saying goodbye.”
Villeneuve doesn’t respond immediately.
The copier fills the silence between us.
“The virus affects the mind as well as the body,” he says eventually. “He’s aware of what’s happening to him and what he’s becoming. That awareness is... difficult.”
“The veins under his skin are spreading.”
My voice comes out flat. I’ve never been someone who cries when I’m upset. Frustrated, occasionally, but when it comes to things like grief and sadness, it’s like there’s a big concrete wall. It all just keeps accumulating and the pressure builds and builds until something eventually cracks.
“I saw it this morning,” I add. “They’re darker than they were yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? Just ‘yes’?”
“Would you prefer I lie? Told you everything was going to be fine?” He tilts his head slightly. “It’s not in my nature, but I can do that. If you’d prefer.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’d prefer the truth.”
“Then the truth is what you’ll have.”
“How much time does he have?”
“More than you fear, less than you’d like.” His dark eyes meet mine. “The progression is slow. Slower than it should be, actually. Killian is strong, and his bond with you and the others is helping. Giving him something to fight for.”
“But it’s not enough.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps Vyse will find something, or perhaps we’ll discover another option entirely.” He pauses. “I’m not inthe habit of giving false hope, Ms. Cook, but I’m not in the business of giving up either. Neither should you be.”
The copier finishes its job with a final thunk. I gather the stack of exams, tapping them against the counter to straighten the edges.
