He called Reeves.
Reeves approved twenty minutes.
The boys lasted eleven.
Then sat.
Still, they had asked.
Nathan watched them from the terrace.
“Do not make that face,” I told him.
“What face?”
“The one where you decide this proves everything.”
He looked offended.
“I am allowed hope.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Hope isn’t proof.”
He sighed.
“I dislike you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He almost smiled.
That was the first time.
On day six, Maya returned.
So did Dr. Reeves.
Nathan gathered us in the library.
Mrs. Bennett attended because she had authorized
deficiency, and evidence of chronic inflammatory stress.”
“From the air?”
“Possibly partly.”
“And the weakness?”
Reeves answered.
“Likely multifactorial.”
Nathan leaned back.
He hated that word.
I could see it.
Reeves continued.
“Reduced activity over two years caused deconditioning. Some medications contributed to fatigue. Sleep was poor. Appetite declined.”
A cascade.
Again.
Not one mysterious disease.
An environment making them feel unwell.
