I let out a shuddered breath and close my eyes tightly. If I keep them tightly shut for long enough, I can fight back the hot tears starting to form. If I can push them back long enough, then I can do what I do best: come up with a plan. Strategize. Evaluate and then execute.

“What are the next steps?” I ask, eyes still closed.

I hear Dr. Kapoor wheel her chair next to me and feel her press a warm hand to my shoulder. It’s not to comfort me but to get my attention.

Eventually, I open my eyes and look over at her.

“It’s simple, really. There’s no medical intervention that you need. No pills.” She taps my chest softly. “Just you. This one’s on you, Andre.

“Your time traveling is what’s causing the rejection,” she explains. “It happens sometimes with people like you. Individuals who are gifted the ability to time travel, not those who are born with it. The body rejects the ability. In simple terms? Traveling is ripping your genes apart with an intensity that the liver cannot compensate for.

“Well, you didn’t ease into that at all,” I say almost coldly. I should feel something more, but right now, the words just feel hollow. I’m sure I’ll react later. “Anything else?”

She doesn’t need to say it. I know what she’s going to say.

“I can’t time travel anymore,” I finish for her.

Dr. Kapoor nods, writing some notes. “Traveling aggravates your system. You stop traveling, and the pain—and the risk—will go away. I’m going to hold you overnight, give you some pills for the pain, and…”

“And if I don’t?”

She pauses, her pencil stopping in what looks like the middle of a loop. She slowly glances up, only raising her eyes, not her head.

“You refuse to stop, and it won’t only be your liver that your body rejects, Andre,” she warns. “Your whole body will shut down. You’re effectively ripping yourself apart whenever you jump. That’s what’s causing your body to short-circuit. It’s starting with your liver because that’s the source. But it won’t end there.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Medicine isn’t—”

“I’m sure,” she interrupts sternly.

Dr. Kapoor puts the clipboard down and focuses her gaze on me in a way that makes it impossible for me to look away. It’s hypnotizing and threatening all at once.

“Let me make it clear for you. If you continue to time travel, you will be lucky if you can speak, let alone walk. Eventually, you will rip yourself apart in a way that nothing—absolutely nothing—can put back together.”