AT THE SAME TIME
XAVIER'S POINT OF VIEW:
The hospital cafeteria buzzed with quiet conversations, the clatter of trays, and the faint hum of the coffee machine in the corner. It smelled like burnt toast and antiseptic, a reminder of where we were. I sat across from Zavier at a small table by the window. He was uncharacteristically quiet, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea he hadn’t touched.
"Xavier." He said finally, breaking the silence.
His voice was low, almost hesitant, and that alone put me on edge. Zavier wasn’t the type to hesitate.
"What’s going on?" I asked, leaning back in my chair.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He stared at it for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line, befor
