[Rynthall Estate, continuation...]
There was a moment of complete, paralyzing silence.
Then:
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU'RE THE FATHER?!"
Lucien's voice cracked like thunder, his hands flailing so wildly that he accidentally slapped Marcel's unconscious body lying beside him. Marcel didn't even twitch.
Probably for the best.
Silas didn't blink. "What do you think I mean?"
Lucien stared at him like he'd just confessed to being a talking cabbage. "I think," he gasped, chest heaving with a blend of outrage and pregnancy-induced dizziness, "that the air in this room is too thick with stupidity and bad decisions and—possibly some hallucination-inducing gas, because this—" he flailed both arms dramatically, "—this cannot be real!"
The physician cleared his throat delicately. "It's very real."
Lucien whipped his head around so fast his neck cracked. "No one asked you, Nosey McScience!"
The physician blinked behind his spectacles. "My name is Frederick."
"Shut up, Frederick!"
