Elena was lying in a hospital bed in the intensive care unit, surrounded by machines that beeped and hummed with mechanical monotony. She had aged twenty years in the few days since Willy had last seen her. Her skin had taken on a grayish pallor, and her breathing was shallow and labored.
Willy moved to her bedside and took her weathered hand gently in his own. He wanted to ask her what had happened, how the network had found her so quickly, whether there was anything the doctors could do to help her. But when he looked into her eyes, he understood that asking those questions was a waste of their limited time together.
"Listen carefully," Elena whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of the machines. "There is something I should have told you earlier. Something I realized onl
