“Noticed anything odd?” asked Wash. The two were standing in the yard, breathing heavily after spending a half an hour playing a rousing game of catch with assorted pebbles. Wash had been unusually sober after the previous day’s discussion, and Mal knew that Wash’s mind was still filled with questions and conflicts. It hadn’t been the only odd thing about the mood that day.

“Khiloh?” Mal, too had noticed that the normally outgoing guard hadn’t wandered over to talk to them since he arrived; he’d been wandering around aimlessly for hours. On any normal day, he would have been leaning against the gate, cheering them on with friendly heckling and even joining the game by catching and lobbing back out of bounds stones.

Wash nodded. “Let’s go see what’s wrong with him.”

Mal lead the way over to the gate and waited for Khiloh’s patrol route to head him back to them. To his concern, Khiloh didn’t hurry over when he saw them at the gate. He just kept patrolling a beaten path, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact when he got near.

“Sir?” asked Mal, his voice stopping Khiloh gently in his tracks. Mal felt a spike of worry in his gut. He hadn’t seen an expression like that cross Khiloh’s face since their first tense meeting, and it told him something was very wrong.

“What’s wrong, Khiloh?” asked Wash.

Khiloh stood silently for an agonizingly long minute, refusing to look at them. When he finally raised his head to face the two men, his eyes were damp with tears. He stared at them mutely for a minute, finally pulling himself together to speak.

“My – son. We have a eight-year-old son –“ his voice broke, and he took several deep breaths. “He’s in the hospital, and they don’t have a clue what’s wrong with him.”

“Andy’s sick?” asked Wash, shocked. Ever since he and Khiloh had become friends years ago, he’d heard stories about their only son. It was somehow inconceivable that the boy could be seriously ill.

“Bad?” asked Mal.

Khiloh nodded. “They – they say it’s critical, i