Gemotions

The diagnosis had been a punch to the gut. Fifteen years old, and already living on borrowed time. The doctors said to take it easy. They said to avoid stress. They said *no*.

Daniel wasn't listening. He spent his time in his garage, tinkering with his father's old car, the metallic scent of oil and gasoline a potent antidote to the antiseptic smell of the hospital. He would not be sidelined. He would not be fragile.

He was in the middle of a project when a girl appeared at his garage door. He didn't recognize her, and her face was pale and drawn. She was clutching a worn book, and her eyes were fixed on the car's engine.

"You… you have it, too?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Chronos Syndrome?"

He slammed the hood closed, the metal echoing in the silence. He glared at her, his jaw tight. "What if I do?"