The effects of the medicine gradually took hold, and Sylvan Cheney's stomach pain lessened. Soon, he felt drowsy.
Jasmine Yale sat by the bedside, not going anywhere.
The hospital room had a faint smell of disinfectant. The curtains were half-drawn, and sunlight seeped through the window glass like a dazzling display of fireworks, casting bright patterns on the floor.
Jasmine Yale reached out and picked up the teacup.
It wasn't hot anymore.
"Have some water," she said, holding the cup and looking at him.
Sylvan Cheney heard her but didn't respond, frowning, with one arm resting on his forehead.
"Oh," Jasmine Yale sighed, standing up.
Her movements were limited, so she could only do her best to take care of him, helping him sit up. "The doctor will come to take your temperature in a while. You can sleep after that, but have some water first."
Sylvan Cheney opened his eyes and stared steadily at her.
