The Quilliams sat in the bright lobby, their faces an evidence of the worry they felt within. Mrs. Jane Quilliam tapped her index finger nervously on her bag. She leaned closer to Dr. Carter.

“The Bronx? You’re really suggesting we take our daughter to a hospital there? It’s dangerous – muggings, gangs…”

Dr. Carter adjusted his glasses, his hands clasped together, his unwavering gaze focused on her, “Mrs. Quilliam, the priority is Liora's survival. We’ve heard there’s a potential heart donor at a facility in the Bronx, but it’s not confirmed yet. If it’s viable, it could save her life.”

The thought of saving her daughter's life seemed to soften her heart and she sighed, now leaning back into her chair.

Mr. Frank Quilliam, tie loosened, brow cocked, finally spoke up, “So you’re saying Liora needs a heart transplant? "That’s what this condition – hypertrophic cardiomyopathy – requires?”

Dr. Carter faced him now, “Yes, I'm glad you understand.”

Though he didn't say it, he was tired of Jane's apprehension at the idea of moving their daughter, Liora, to the other hospital.

The girl was at the brink of death. ‘Muggings, gangs’ should be the last thing on her mind now.

Or at least, it should come after saving her daughter's life.

“We need to move quickly if a donor heart becomes available. Time is critical. "Do you understand?” Dr. Carter said, slowly and calmly, ensuring that the weight of the situation landed.

They had to understand. Liora was their only child.

Frank nodded, “We just need Liora to be healthy again. Do what you can, doctor. Whatever it takes, I'll pay,”

_______

Somewhere across town, Fedora, who ran a little coffee shop Ty had been to a lot of times, sat in the hospital waiting room, twisting her fingers nervously. Ty stood beside her, a worried look on his face as she spoke,

“I was setting up my cart, and I saw Old Man Tormund slumped over on his quilt. Thought he was napping, you know? I called out, ‘Tormund, you lazy old coot, it’s past ten!’ He always grumbles back, but today, I got no response. Not even a grunt. I got closer, and he was out cold. Got some folks to help me bring him here.”

Ty nodded, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. He had come straight from work to the hospital to visit Ezra, who was still admitted, but the doctor was tied up.

And just as he was about to leave and return later, he saw Tormund being wheeled in. The whole thing with Ezra already had him restless all day, but seeing Tormund rattled him further.

“Ezra kept trying to get Tormund to crash at our place, even just for a night. Guy wouldn’t budge. Always had some excuse.”

A doctor in a slightly wrinkled coat approached them.

“You're with Ezra, right?” he asked, gesturing towards Ty.

“Yes, doctor. Is he okay?”

The doctor sighed, shaking his head, “Ezra has a severe gastrointestinal infection. It’s been festering for months, maybe longer. Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s been functioning with this level of pain.”

Ty's mouth hung open, “Pain? Ezra? He’s, like, Mr. Healthy. He doesn’t drink much, eats clean, and works. How’s he been in pain and not said anything?”

“Well, we're doing everything we can to keep him stable and limit the damage, but it's an uphill battle.”

The doctor pulled off his gloves.

“Can I see him?” Ty asked.

“Of course. He's unconscious, but yes, you can sit with him,”

The doctor turned back towards the way he came and Ty followed.

____

In another hospital room, Tormund stirred awake, his eyes landing on the beautiful nurse, Jemima, with a clipboard and his pen, jotting by his bed.

“Guess I'm still kicking,” he said, his voice raspy from not talking for a long time.

The nurse looked up from the clipboard and smiled at him, “It’s good to see you finally awake sir. You gave up quite the scare.”

She rose and adjusted his IV, then she began checking his vitals. “Everything looks stable, but we’re running tests to figure out why you collapsed. Anything unusual you’ve eaten or done lately?”

Tormund's gaze traveled from the nurse’s face to the ceiling, “Unusual? I don't know. This whole world's unusual if you squint hard enough.”

Jemima watched him for a while, wondering if it was the medications clouding his mind. “We’ll likely discharge you soon, Mr. Tormund. I’ll check back in a bit.”

As she turned to leave, she scribbled something on her clipboard. She gave Tormund another confused look before she closed the door behind her.

When she returned to the room hours later with some food for Tormund, he held her hand,

“Wait,”

She turned to him with a practiced smile, “What's wrong, Mr. Tormund?”

“I want to donate my heart,” he said, his gaze steady. “There’s a girl out there who’ll need it.”

The nurse stared at him, her mouth slightly open. She withdrew her hand from his and rubbed her other hand over the spot he had touched, “Sir, we don’t have any patients here needing a heart transplant right now. You should rest –”

“You will, soon. Just do as I said,”

He gazed into her eyes for the last time. Then he lay back on his bed, his eyes closed as the monitors beeped, faltered, then flatlined. Jemima rushed to his side, checking for a pulse, but she felt nothing.

She punched the call button, shouting for help as she began chest compressions.

Seconds later, a doctor rushed in, assessing Tormund quickly.

But he was gone.

“He signed a donor consent,” the doctor said when he was confirmed dead. “His heart's still viable,”