Sophia sat in the oncology department of a New York hospital, her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag. She was due at work later that day. Everyone thought she was there for a friend. In truth, she was there for herself.

  She didn’t want anyone to know—not yet. Not the pitying glances, not the well-meaning but suffocating conversations that would only keep her anxiety fresh, nipping at the edges of her mind.

  It was just a scan—a brain scan.

  The headaches had worsened. Each one started as a dull throb and sometimes flared into something sharp and sinister. Her doctor had sent her for tests.

  It’s nothing, she told herself. A stress migraine. Just stress.

  But the thought lingered:

  What if it’s a tumour? What if it’s cancer?

  Her phone chimed, snapping her out of the spiral. She pulled it from her pocket. Caller ID: Stevie Chen.

  Stevie was usually all cheer, but today his voice had an edge—serious, unsure.

  “Sophia, it’s Adam,” he said. “He was here all night. Drinking. A lot.”

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  Sophia frowned. “So?”

  Adam often worked late. But drinking on the job? That was out of character. Still, Stevie’s concern felt disproportionate.

  “He... urinated in the bin,” Stevie added awkwardly. “And Alice saw him on the way out. He... said something to her.”

  Sophia straightened. “What did he say?”

  There was a pause.

  “He said she has nice breasts,” Stevie muttered.

  Sophia blinked, caught between disbelief and irritation. “Are you sure she said it was Adam?”

  Stevie hesitated. “She’s pretty sure. And… well, she does. But I know that’s not appropriate to say. I think he might be breaking down.”

  Sophia exhaled, dragging a hand through her hair. Stevie’s autism sometimes made social cues hard to read, but even he understood this was serious.

  “No, you can’t say that,” she said.

  Just then, a robotic voice cut through the conversation.

  “Please follow. Your scan is now ready.”

  Sophia looked up at the doctor-bot standing before her. Its polished white shell gleamed under the harsh overhead lights—impersonal and pristine.

  “I have to go,” she told Stevie. “I’ll be in later.”

  She ended the call and rose, her footsteps echoing softly along the sterile corridor as she followed the robot.

  Normally, she would have been more concerned about Adam’s behaviour, more troubled by what he’d said.

  But right now, it all paled in comparison.

  Right now, all she could focus on was the smooth, metallic head of the machine guiding her forward—

  and the fragile hope that the scan would show nothing at all.