“Dr. Moore? She’s serving at another hospital for the week. I’ve been fully briefed on Andre’s condition, and I’m confident that I can step in here,” Dr. Kapoor says without missing a beat. “There’s nothing you can do for Andre right now, except give him his rest. I’ll have more information for you tomorrow. How about you go and get some dinner or coffee, and we can talk more in, say, an hour?”

Mom and Dad aren’t buying it. Both of them shifted their whole lives around when I got sick. It was always me and them against this cancer. Why change that?

“I’ll be fine,” I promise. “Just get some food and relax.”

They hesitate for a moment before Claire comes in for the kill.

“I know Dr. Kapoor personally,” she says soothingly. “I went to college with her. How about we talk about her credentials over some dinner, hmm?”

There it is. Mom’s shoulders relax. Dad nods curtly. He gives my shoulder a squeeze before walking out with Greg. Mom gives me a kiss before whispering, “If you need anything, call me.”

Blake follows, and knowing that I can’t call her without a phone, places mine on the table next to me. We lock eyes for a moment, and he smiles, though it’s fragile.

“You’re in good hands with Dr. Kapoor,” he vows.

I want to tell Blake to stay—or, at least, ask him to—but before I can muster up the strength, he’s gone, leaving me and Dr. Kapoor alone.

She doesn’t look up from her clipboard at first. I reach over to grab my phone, but my arms feel like lead. Dr. Kapoor glances up, walks over, and hands it to me.

“Now I can ask you the real questions I wanted to ask,” she says, pulling a chair close to my bed. “Are you feeling groggy? Tingling feeling all over? Heavy? Dizzy?”

I nod to each one of them.

“I’m a time traveler,” she says. “Just like Mr. and Mrs. McIntyre, and just like you. They brought me in to deal with your…unique situation.” She smiles softly.

It’s not the type of smile that’s reassuring.

“What’s happening to me?” I whisper, the scratchiness in my throat burning like hot dragon fire. “Everything feels…”

“Painful?” she asks, not looking up. “In the most simplistic of terms, your body is rejecting your liver.”

I can feel the speed of my blood increasing. The panic starting to rise. Rejection is the one thing we’ve all been trying to avoid. What are the chances of another liver coming around, or even someone who is a perfect match who’d actually be willing to donate part of their liver to me? Minimal. Can you live without a liver? No.