Elara waited until the door shut behind the last person before saying, "Out."
The physician bowed himself backward, Ken hesitated half a heartbeat, then followed the others. The latch clicked. Silence dropped over the room like a curtain.
She crossed to the sofa and let herself sink into it, body folding in that careful, controlled way of someone who understood exactly how much give their muscles had left. When her back touched the cushions, every bruise and ache made itself known at once. Her fingers—still scraped from clutching sheets and stone during the earlier episode—twitched against the upholstery, nerves firing at random.
She closed her eyes. Just for a second.
For three heartbeats there was nothing but the faint ringing in her skull and the deep, rhythmic thud of her own tired heart.
"Well, you don't look 'slightly' tired."
The voice was light and bright, like a bell struck in a quiet room.
Elara's eyes snapped open.
