I went back into Warren’s room and sat beside him.
“How long?”
He looked at my face.
“They told you.”
I nodded.
He reached for my hand.
“How long?”
“They don’t know.”
“I need you to help me with something.”
He gave a weak laugh.
“Doctors love saying that.”
I cried then.
Warren didn’t.
Instead, he squeezed my fingers and said, “I need you to help me with something.”
“I want to donate my lungs.”
“Anything.”
“I want to donate my lungs.”
I stared at him.
“After you die?”
“Yes. But I want them to go to someone specific.”
I frowned.
“Who is Mallory?”
