"Seizures?" Now that's a curveball. Miles tries to swim through the deluge of information, even delivered in surprisingly few words from someone like himself. Instead -- of what, the brittle bones? Supposes that'd have made for a convenient opportunity to do all his bone replacement surgery at once while they were already putting the rest of him together. But that's not what makes the lead sink deeper into his stomach. He prays the maple mead will hit him soon.

"What happened?" The question comes out flatter than he intends. His mind is already dizzy, spinning out a thousand possible answers before the other Miles can say a word. Just tell me, dammit.