The moment Camilla stepped out, the sterile air of the corridor felt thicker, heavier. Her feet moved, but her chest was tight–tight from the tears she hadn’t cried, tight from the truth she now carried like a ticking clock in her hands.

Cyrus spotted her from the corner seat and stood up. He looked worried, but trying not to show it–arms crossed, jaw tense, eyes dark.

Camilla forced a smile, as soon as she noticed him. Her heart ached for him with tender sorrow, knowing he had no idea what had befallen him.

“How is she?” he asked, immediately she was close to him.

Seeing him up close, she was...