He was on the train before he'd finished the call.
Mira's voice, careful, measured, trying not to frighten him, had said the words in the order hospitals trained families to hear them. Stable. Resting. We'd like you to come in. The specific language that meant: not an emergency yet. Also not nothing.
He texted Juno from the platform.
Going to the hospital. Mum. Don't know details yet.
Then he put his phone in his pocket and stood in the moving train and looked at the window and did not think about the worst version of this because thinking about the worst version had never once prevented it and only wasted the time between now and knowing.
He was managing.
He was always managing.
The train took forty-two minutes.
His phone buzzed at minute eleven.
Not Juno. Not Mira.
I know. I'm already on my way. Don't ask how I know.
Caelan.
Seren looked at the message.
He didn't ask how he knew.
He texted back: You don't have to come.
The response was immediate.
I know.
