"Arthur Morgan," I called out, my voice cutting through the elegant chatter of the ballroom.
The elderly patriarch froze mid-conversation with a group of business associates. His walking cane trembled slightly in his grip as he turned to face me.
"Dr. Hayes," he said carefully, his voice betraying his nervousness.
"I told you before that you had only days to live," I continued, my tone matter-of-fact. "That hasn't changed."
The color drained from Arthur's face. Several guests nearby stopped their conversations to listen.
"What are you saying?" Bella stepped forward, her voice sharp with panic.
"I'm saying your grandfather's condition is terminal. The episode earlier was just a preview."
"But you stabilized him," Clara protested.
"I bought him time. Nothing more."
Arthur's breathing became labored again. "How long do I have?"
"Three days. Four at most."
