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Summary
Viktor wants to say “Yes, Jayce. The mixture of high-dose immunotherapy drugs and painkillers with a total of three pitiful shots has turned out to be just a few too many.” Instead, Viktor lets his legs slide to stretch out before him, dark jeans scuffed and dirty alongside Jayce’s slightly creased chinos.
“I’m simply enjoying the opulence of Miss Medarda’s splendid bathroom floor,” Is what he actually says.
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Viktor is twenty-seven and dying. Jayce is twenty-six and doubting. They are both still growing up.