Ford's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "That can't be right," he said quietly, frowning at the ingredients. It wasn't that he didn't trust Noble's expertise (no matter what he'd said last week), but this just didn't make any sense. The potion had a night-and-day difference on Darrow; it couldn't have just been a pain potion. Could it? Darrow had said he was sick, but Ford had never believed him, any more than he'd believed his early lie about needing help for a dying patient. Ford chewed the edge of his thumbnail for a moment, thinking.

"Is there anything —" he started, but found himself unable to finish. Is there anything wrong with Billy Darrow, he'd been trying to ask, but suddenly his tongue felt too heavy to form words.