Mom turned to the physician, and instantly, the room descended into an oppressive silence. Every movement stilled, as though even the air had been sucked out of the space. Not a single sound escaped any of us, not even from the other physician who was still tending to Rai, lying motionless where he had fainted. The only noises that remained were faint, distant—footsteps shuffling softly as someone shifted near the edge of the room.
My eyes locked onto the pool of blood spreading across the cold, unforgiving ground. I couldn't look away. It was all-consuming, staining not just the floor but everything it touched—the sharp metallic scent lingering in the air, clawing its way into my throat. My gaze traced the dark streaks trailing back toward the table. Its sharp edge glinted faintly, a sickening contrast to the crimson that smeared its surface. It didn't take much imagination to piece together what had happened.
She must have hit her head on that edge when her body gave out. I could picture it with excruciating clarity: she had likely been trying to stand, trying to push herself upright despite how weak she must have felt. Her body had betrayed her. The scene replayed in my mind, vivid and inescapable. Vomit pooled at her feet—a final insult to her already battered form. My stomach churned violently, a nauseating mix of rage and helplessness coursing through me.
The minutes ticked by in unbearable silence. Every second stretched into eternity. The physician worked meticulously, his face a mask of concentration. None of us dared to move or speak. It felt like hours before he finally turned to face my mother, his expression etched with fatigue and restrained anger. His voice broke the suffocating quiet, steady yet heavy with barely concealed frustration.
"Her body was already at its limit," he began, his words hanging in the air like lead weights. "She has five broken ribs. Five," he repeated, as though the number itself was an indictment. His tone was sharp, biting. "Her belly and back are riddled with bruises—deep, dark bruises. It's clear she's been enduring this for a long time. Her stomach…" He paused, his jaw tightening as if forcing himself to remain composed. "Her stomach has taken so much damage, she won't be able to digest any solid food for at least a month."
He turned then, his piercing gaze sweeping across her brothers, as if daring them to provide an explanation. "Did she already have problems with food before this? Because her vomit was far too acidic—much more than it should be."
Aeneas shifted uncomfortably, his jaw clenched so tightly I could hear his teeth grinding. His frustration was palpable, his words forced out through gritted teeth. "I don't… I don't know," he admitted at last, his voice low and taut with tension.
"Yes," Rai whispered. The single word fell like a stone into the silence, startling everyone. Heads turned sharply in his direction, eyes widening in disbelief. Even I couldn't hide my shock. Rai knowing this? Of all people? It made no sense.
"Usually, she vomits after eating," Rai continued quietly, his voice subdued but unwavering. "She's always had a lot of food allergies too. But… since she was a child, she's pretended to eat normally. She's hidden it from everyone, vomiting everything up afterward. That's why she drinks tea all the time. Why she survives on smoothies. They're easier for her to digest."
The weight of his words settled heavily in the room, suffocating and unrelenting. My mind reeled. How the fuck did he know that?
Aeneas was the first to break the silence, his voice sharp with disbelief. "How… how do you know all of that?" he demanded, his tone edged with suspicion. Even Elodie, who rarely showed much emotion, looked visibly shaken as her gaze fixed on Rai.
Rai sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of some unseen burden. "Someone who used to know her well told me," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret.
It hit me like a slap across the face. My chest tightened painfully as realization dawned. "My sister!" I burst out, the words escaping before I could stop them. My blood boiled, anger and frustration warring within me. Rai nodded, confirming my suspicion, and the fury in me swelled.
"In front of everyone else, she always pretended to be fine," Rai said, his tone calm but laced with frustration. "She made a show of loving food, acting like nothing was wrong. But your sister…" His voice softened, almost reverent. "Your sister was the only one she trusted enough to show her vulnerabilities to. I think she believed that if any of us knew, we'd use it against her."
He shook his head, his expression pained. "She trusted her. Only her."
The physician interjected, his voice cutting through the tension. "How long have you known this?" His tone was sharp, almost accusatory.
"The Princess told me when Nsomi was seven," Rai replied evenly.
Seven. The word echoed in my mind like a curse. Seven years old. Gods above.
"The Princess said my sister told her she started feeling like this after her ability awakened. She was three years old," Rai explained.
"Gods…" someone whispered. The sound barely registered over the pounding in my ears.
The physician looked visibly shaken, his expression a mix of horror and disbelief. "Why didn't you do anything?" he demanded, his voice rising with incredulity. "Why didn't you call for help? A physician? Someone?"
Rai hesitated, swallowing hard. "I…" He faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I thought it was a punishment for what she did—for being able to do what she does with her eyes." He looked up, his eyes meeting the physician's. "And when she seemed fine, I thought… I thought it was okay to leave it the way it was."
The physician's face twisted with disgust. He shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Now I understand why this kid only trusted one person with this. No one else cared enough to help her. Not a single one of you," he said, his voice dripping with disdain.
The accusation hung in the air like a storm cloud. Even my mother flinched.
"And all of this," the physician continued, his voice low and bitter, "all of it because of something entirely out of her control."
Elodie, hesitant but unable to remain silent, asked, "Was it… difficult?"
The physician let out a bitter laugh. "Difficult?" he repeated, his voice laced with sarcasm. "That doesn't even begin to cover it. If she's nineteen now, she's been dealing with this for sixteen years." He paused, his voice turning grave. "Her stomach is three times more acidic than a cow's. That's the kind of condition we're talking about here. Every time she pretends to eat normally, she's making it worse. Do you understand?" His gaze swept over all of us, sharp and condemning.
"When food reaches her stomach, it burns her from the inside out. Then comes the excruciating pain, forcing her to throw everything up. That's why she drinks smoothies. That's why she avoids solid food," he explained, running a hand through his silvered hair.
"She also can't eat any kind of meat," he added, his tone final.
His words landed like blows, each one heavier than the last. There was nothing left to say.