"Uncle… Dax…" Arion managed through hiccups. "I hate white."
For one second, nobody in the room said anything.
Chris looked down at the child in his arms. Arion's face was wet, blotchy, exhausted, and entirely sincere in his misery. The words had come out broken by tears, but the disgust in them was clear enough.
Dax's hand remained steady at the back of Arion's head.
Then he said, as if Arion had just submitted a reasonable complaint about room assignments and not a grief-struck verdict on a medical crisis, "Yes. It's ugly."
The physician blinked.
Chris turned his head slowly toward Dax.
Arion gave one shaky, miserable hiccup and pressed harder into Chris, clearly vindicated by this immediate support.
Dax looked at the room.
White walls. White sheets. White light. White cabinetry. White uniforms softened only by royal insignia and careful tones. Everything a child in mutation distress would obviously hate.
