[he has indeed gone too far forward, and Jin Guangyao frowns as he tries to keep up with what he is hearing, filing away details in the rolodex of his memory to return to later, once he has additional context. the details he hears about John don't register more than a subtle drawing together of his eyebrows, his eyes tracking the movement of Quentin's hand to where he places it against his chest.]
A mirror? [he repeats, eyes widening.] In place of your lung?
no subject
A mirror? [he repeats, eyes widening.] In place of your lung?