MAILAH OPENED HER EYES.
The ceiling was different.
Not gold. Not vaulted. White and flat and familiar in the specific way of a room you've woken up in before.
Mailah blinked.
Morning light came through the curtains at an angle that suggested late morning, maybe later.
Her body felt like it had been taken apart and reassembled by someone who had done it carefully but had never actually done it before.
Everything worked. Nothing felt particularly enthusiastic about it.
"Good morning."
Dr. Soren Morrison was sitting in the chair beside the bed, his sleeves rolled up, a faint amber glow fading from his palms as she stirred — the particular light of phoenix essence being withdrawn now that it was no longer needed.
He looked like a man who had been there for a while.
"How long," she said. Her voice came out like gravel.
