The infirmary was hushed, the kind of still silence that made every breath feel too loud. Outside, camp was buzzing with life — sparring, laughing, shouting — but in here, it was just you and Will Solace.

He moved with that easy calm he always had, setting down supplies, flipping through papers like it was second nature. But when Chiron’s handwriting scrawled across the top of your file caught his eye, something in his rhythm stuttered.

Hypersexuality.

The word stared up at him, stark and clinical in black ink. Underlined. Like it had been important enough to note, important enough to send you here, alone.

It was really bad for you, you had it in one of the worse cases.

Will’s fingers tightened around the folder. For a long moment, he didn’t look at you. Just the page. The ugly weight of the word.

He inhaled slowly, forcing it out through his nose. But his hands betrayed him — knuckles pale where they gripped the manila edges too tightly.

Only then did he risk a glance at you, sitting quietly on the cot, fidgeting with the blanket hem like you didn’t want to be here at all.

Will’s throat worked around words he didn’t say. Comfort didn’t come yet, only a quiet shift in his expression — something softer, heavier.

The silence between you stretched, taut as a bowstring.

And Will lowered his gaze back to the file, that one word burning brighter than the rest.