Johnny nced back at Owen. There was no other choice, anyway. With a casual wave, he said, “Have at it, then, hardly daring to hope for anything remarkable.


    After saying that, he left the room, convinced that looking for miracles in a young girl was a fool’s errand. It was better to follow orders and go prepare the car.


    Asher, standing nearby, muttered under his breath<b>, </b>“Dad, c’mon, at least try to save our family some dignity.”


    The Reeves family had staked their reputation on this girl, and if she failed to diagnose, it would be yet another embarrassment. Asher was visibly opposed to his father’s actions.


    Niki wouldn’t even dignify Asher with a nce. Instead, he turned to Mirabe and said, “Ms. Mirabe, it’s your turn to take a look.”


    Before Mirabe could respond, Asher scoffed, this time to Dane, “Dane, you think Dad’s gone off the deep end?”


    Niki shivered with indignation.


    Dane coughed awkwardly and massaged his temples. “Asher, that’s no way to talk. There’s no harm in giving it a shot.” His words were diplomatic, butced with clear skepticism, albeit more tactfully phrased than Asher’s blunt outbursts.


    Asher rolled his eyes, not wanting to stick around for more humiliation. With a hastily made excuse, he left


    the room.


    Dane sighed softly, letting him go, and then focused his attention on Mirabe. He gestured politely, stepping back to give her space.


    “Mirabe, don’t feel pressured. Just do what you normally do.” Niki had absolute faith in Mirabe’s expertise, but Owen’s condition was bizarre, practically unheard of, which was why he offered those reassuring words.


    Mirabe nodded slightly at Niki, took a few steps forward, and stood by the bedside. Instead of immediately checking Owen’s pulse, she asked, “Your family has seen this illness before, haven’t they?” Her tone was inquisitive, but her demeanor suggested certainty.


    Owen, looking into the young girl’s piercing eyes that betrayed a wisdom beyond her years, found it difficult to regard her as just a teenager.


    After a moment’s thought, he replied, “Not that I’m aware of.”


    Mirabe responded calmly, “Well, it’s a hereditary illness. Someone in your lineage must have had it.”


    She paused, sitting down on a chair by the <b>bed</b><b>, </b><b>and </b>continued, “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve had intermittent headaches recently, even mild diarrhea. You often have nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat, right?”


    Owen was initially taken aback, but after a few seconds, his pale face registered shock. “You’re right,” he admitted.


    Dane, who had been texting colleagues from the Pharmacists‘ Guild on Messenger, stopped mid–tap, his prepared message unsent. He lifted his head, watched Owen in shock, and finally shifted his gaze to