Rafe yawned for the third time, long and unrestrained. His eyes burned, and no matter how hard he tried to keep them open, his lids drooped stubbornly. His head tipped sideways until it came to rest against Ayden's shoulder.
"Gods… I need sleep," he muttered, voice drained with exhaustion.
"Mr Amares, don't lean on me," Ayden protested weakly, nudging his superior's head away. "I'm barely conscious myself."
The assistant healer looked no better. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usual composure had withered into a hollow, sleep-starved glare. He attempted to straighten, only to sway slightly before catching himself.
Eric observed the pair with visible disdain.
"Weak," he scoffed mockingly, folding his arms across his broad chest.
Unlike the two healers, he stood upright and alert, his posture sharp. A few sleepless nights had done little to dull his focus or his infuriatingly composed appearance.
Rafe shot him a tired glare.
