The Oncology Center had become my second home, though it was a home built of sterile white tile and the rhythmic, mechanical sighs of oxygen concentrators. The frantic, high-stakes energy of Eastwood Academy felt like a fever dream I had woken up from weeks ago. Here, the currency was not rankings or family legacies; it was white blood cell counts and the ability to keep down a tray of hospital lime Jell-O. I had established a rigid, almost military routine to keep my sanity from fraying at the edges. I would arrive at dawn, read the global financial markets to my grandmother while she took her morning tea, and then I would drift through the hallways during her long afternoon naps.
My Ice Queen mask remained my primary defense. I walked past the nurses' station with my chin level and my expression unreadable, a Sterling even in the face of mortality. But the mask always felt a little heavier when I detoured through the pediatric wing. There was a raw, unfiltered honesty in that ward that made my practiced composure feel like a cheap costume.
That was where I met Leo.
He was sitting in a motorized wheelchair near the large bay window of the sunroom, his small frame almost entirely swallowed by an oversized navy blue hoodie. He looked to be about ten years old, his skin the color of unbaked dough, but his eyes were dark and strikingly intelligent. He was hunched over a handheld gaming console, his thumbs moving with a frantic, desperate precision that I recognized instantly. It was the same way I gripped my pen during the final minutes of a calculus exam. It was the grip of someone who refused to let go of the only thing they could control.
"You are going to lose if you keep taking that left turn," I said, stopping a few feet away from him. I usually avoided the other patients, but there was something about the stubborn set of his jaw that pulled a comment out of me before I could censor it.
The boy did not look up. He didn't even blink. "The boss has a kinetic shield on the right side. If I go right, I am dead in three seconds. Left is the only way to the health packs."
"If you go left, you fall into the lava pit," I countered, stepping closer to look at the glowing screen. "The shield isn't permanent. It pulses. There is a tiny window of exactly three seconds where the core is exposed. If you time your dash, you can hit the center and end the fight before the health packs even matter."
He paused, his thumbs hovering over the buttons. He finally looked up at me, blinking in surprise. He didn't look intimidated by my tailored Sterling blazer or the cold, professional way I carried myself. He just puffed out his cheeks in a challenge. "Three seconds? That is a frame perfect move. Are you a pro gamer or something?"
"I am a Sterling," I replied, a small, rare spark of amusement touching my lips. "We are trained to find the structural weakness in every system we encounter. Trust me. Hit the core on the third pulse."
He went back to the game. I stood there, watching as he waited with bated breath. On the third pulse of the digital shield, he dashed. The boss exploded into a shower of gold pixels, and a giant "Victory" banner flashed across the screen. Leo let out a triumphant yell, pumping his fist in the air so hard his wheelchair rocked.
"Whoa! You really are a genius! I have been stuck on that level for four days!" He grinned at me, revealing a missing front tooth. "I am Leo. I am here because my blood is lazy. It is called Autoimmune Neutropenia. Basically, my body thinks my own germ fighters are the bad guys, so it attacks them. I have to come here for IVIG pep talks so I don't get sick from a sneeze."
"I am Sadie," I said, sitting on the edge of the empty window bench. "I am here with my grandmother. She is in Room 402."
"Oh, the lady with the fancy tea sets?" Leo asked, his eyes widening. "The nurses say she is the toughest patient on the floor. I like her. She told a doctor his tie was 'aesthetic violence' last Tuesday."
I felt a genuine laugh bubble up in my chest, the first one in a long time. "That sounds like her. She is my best friend. We are a team."
Over the next few days, Leo became the only source of light in the gray, suffocating reality of the hospital. While my grandmother slept, I would find him in the sunroom or the cafeteria. I started bringing him illicit treats from the high end bakery near the Sterling estate, hiding them in my bag to bypass the nurses. In return, Leo shared his world with me. But mostly, he talked about his brother.
"My brother is a legend," Leo told me one afternoon as we shared a box of expensive macaroons. "He is much older than me, and he is super busy with school and our dad's business stuff, but he never misses a visit. Not once. He brings me the best comics from the specialty shops and tells me stories about how he is going to take over the world one day."
I watched the way Leo's face lit up when he spoke about him. "He sounds like a good person, Leo."
"He is the best," Leo insisted, his expression turning serious. "But he is also a total grump to everyone else. He wears these expensive suits and acts like he doesn't care about anything, but I know the truth. He told me that when he is the boss of everything, he is going to build me a hospital made of solid gold with a giant arcade in the lobby."
I felt a pang of envy mixed with curiosity. In my world at Eastwood, brothers were competitors or obstacles. I thought of the "Golden Boy" Richard Thorne and how he had abandoned me the moment things got complicated. I thought of the cold, calculated hierarchy of the academy where everyone was out for themselves. To hear Leo talk about a brother who would build him a golden world felt like a fairy tale.
"He sounds like he would do anything for you," I whispered.
"He would," Leo said. "He even lies to our dad for me. Dad doesn't like him spending time here. He thinks it makes us look 'vulnerable' or something stupid like that. So my brother tells him he is at late night study groups or business dinners just so he can come here and play video games with me. He is the best liar I know."
The more Leo talked, the more I began to respect this mystery brother. I imagined a kind, hardworking young man who was struggling against a cold father, much like I was. It made me feel less alone in my own battle with the Sterling legacy.
However, my thoughts weren't always so noble. Even as I grew closer to Leo, the memories of Eastwood remained like thorns in my side. I still thought about Carl Sinclair. I still remembered the way he had looked at me during the "pity" dance at the gala. I remembered the night of the retreat, when he had found me in my moment of absolute humiliation after Richard's betrayal. He had saved me that night, yes. He had been a silent sentinel in the dark. But then he had turned around and told his father that I was a charity case. He had called me pathetic.
I hated that I couldn't quite extinguish the memory of his hand on my waist or the way he had fixed my dress. I hated that he had been the one to see me break. But mostly, I hated that he was a Sinclair. He was exactly the kind of person Leo's brother sounded like he wasn't. Carl was a jerk, a pain in the ass, and a shark who only cared about his own survival.
"You have that look again, Sadie," Leo said, poking my arm. "The 'I want to freeze someone' look. Is it about the boy you told me about? The one who was a jerk at school?"
"He is just someone I am glad to be away from, Leo," I said, trying to smooth my expression. "He is part of a world that doesn't matter anymore. Right now, all that matters is you and my grandmother."
Leo nodded, though he looked unconvinced. "My brother says that jerks are usually just people who are afraid of being hurt first. Maybe your school jerk just needs a Frame Perfect Move to fix his heart."
I laughed, shaking my head. "I don't think a video game strategy can fix Carl Sinclair, Leo. Some people are just born with ice where their hearts should be."
"Maybe," Leo mused, his eyes drifting back to his game. "But ice melts if you hold it long enough."
I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting with him, watching the sun set over the city. I felt a strange sense of peace. My grandmother was stable for the moment, I had a ten year old gaming prodigy as a best friend, and for the first time in months, I wasn't being followed by a vulture or mocked by a rival.
I didn't know that the peace was about to shatter. I didn't know that the "hero" brother Leo worshipped was the same person I had sworn to never speak to again. And I certainly didn't know that my "Frame Perfect Move" was about to involve the very person I wanted to freeze out of existence.
As I walked Leo back to his room and tucked the extra macaroons into his bedside drawer, I felt a surge of gratitude. "I will see you tomorrow, Leo. Don't let the 'lazy blood' win."
"I won't, Sadie," he promised. "And tomorrow, you have to meet my brother. He is coming for a late visit. I told him all about my genius friend. I think you guys would actually get along."
I smiled, not realizing the irony of his words. "We will see, Leo. We will see."
I walked back to my grandmother's ward, my heels clicking a soft, steady rhythm on the linoleum. For the first time, the sound didn't feel like a funeral march. It felt like a heartbeat. I was ready for tomorrow. Or so I thought.