Phoebe's POV
Mitchell looked terrible. Just propping himself up to talk left him gasping for air.
I quickly gestured for Harold to help him lie back down, then scrubbed my hands clean and got started.
This session was way more intense than before. Hours of solid work.
I had to keep tweaking my approach based on how Mitchell was responding. It was exhausting, but I couldn't afford to lose focus.
Traditional medicine had pretty much disappeared from Coralia, so even someone as worldly as Mitchell was stunned by my acupuncture technique. I could tell he was impressed.
Harold hung around the entire time, throwing out questions about Mitchell's condition while stealing glances at me when he thought I wasn't looking.
Honestly, we'd only crossed paths twice, but I could feel his curiosity growing stronger each time.
He'd obviously done his homework on me, though my overseas records were laughably fake—anyone with half a brain could spot that.
