But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind refused to let him fully escape the present. His thoughts kept drifting, interrupting his concentration. What if you’re too late?

The sickness.

It was taking its toll faster now. The nosebleeds had become frequent. The headaches more intense. Each coughing fit seemed a little harder. But no, not now—he couldn’t afford to think about it.

The door creaked open behind him, and Viktor didn’t flinch, too focused to acknowledge the interruption. But then a voice cut through the air, familiar, yet laced with frustration.

“Viktor… you’re pushing yourself too hard again.”

He felt their presence behind him, that nagging sense of them—his partner. His dear, but sometimes annoying partner. They cared, of course, too much, maybe, but it made everything a little bit more… complicated.

“I’m fine,” he muttered without looking up, his voice a little more strained than he intended.

“You’re not fine.” Their words were firm, cutting through his thoughts. He could hear them step closer, the soft shuffle of their shoes on the floor. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, Viktor. You’re pale. You’re—”

“I’m working,” he snapped, the irritation rising in his chest. Why couldn’t they see? Why couldn’t they understand that this was everything to him? “I need to finish this.”

“Just… just leave it,” he said, his voice cold now, a wall he’d built to keep them out. He turned back to the Hexcore, but the words slipped out, the raw honesty of his thoughts. “I don’t have much time left.”

The words hung in the air, an awful truth that was now spilling out.

They froze. Complete silence.

Viktor’s chest tightened, panic creeping up his spine, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse under the weight of his own admission. He hadn’t planned to say it like that—hadn’t even meant to say it at all.

The sharp sting of a headache hit him then, a cruel reminder of the illness creeping up on him. His nose started to bleed again, the crimson staining the back of his hand again.