NICK
"His finger twitched," Noah said. "About an hour ago. And there was—" He paused for a moment. "A tear. Just one."
I processed this information. It had clinical significance. Motor activity and an emotional response during an unconscious state meant the brain was present. It was processing. It was fighting its way back through the fog.
"That's good," I said. I didn't look up from the chart. "It means he isn't static. The brain is working. Don't read too much into the specific content of the reaction. Just note that it occurred."
Noah nodded. I could see the relief in the way his shoulders dropped, even if he didn't say a word.
I finished the check and moved toward the door. I stopped before I reached the handle. A question arrived in my throat before I could decide to hold it back.
"Did anyone else come by?" I asked the door. "Any other visitors?"
I saw the slight surprise on Noah's face. "No," he said. "Just me. Why?"
