The air smelled faintly of herbs, antiseptic oils, clean linen, and old stone cooled by the night's rain. Bowls of darkened water had been replaced twice already. Folded cloth rested stacked beside silver trays holding instruments no longer immediately needed but kept close regardless. A physician moved quietly near the hearth, grinding fresh medicine into powder with careful pressure while another reviewed written observations beneath candlelight that had not yet been extinguished despite the coming dawn.
Liora remained awake.
That fact alone had altered the rhythm of the room.
Not because she spoke or moved or acknowledged the world around her in any meaningful way, but because unconsciousness had at least carried certainty. Sleep could be monitored. Sedation could be measured. Silence while awake became something far more difficult to understand.
