For the next three hours—or three minutes; time had become a half-life—Liam ran through the library’s twisted aisles. Each drug was a character. ACE inhibitors were tiny plumbers shutting off leaky valves. Beta-blockers were stoic guards standing in front of the heart’s panic button. Warfarin was a blind weaver snipping threads of clot.
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He woke up in a library. But not a real one. The shelves were made of rib cages, and the books were labeled with drug names: Lisinopril: The Vasodilator’s Tale . Metformin: The Ancient Sugar-Sword . For the next three hours—or three minutes; time