𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄
She was not facing me when I stepped into the infirmary. Picking up on my mood, the medics exited the room—leaving me with her alone. When the last medic stepped out, closing the door behind them, she finally turned around to meet my gaze.
Her neck brace held her head at an odd angle; her lip was busted, her skin pale and littered with bruising and cuts. Stitches adorned her body, and she looked like she had been mauled altogether. Even now, the smell of wolfsbane permeated the air between us as I closed the distance.
She blinked slowly, watching me.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, trying to force more inflection into my voice to keep her at ease.
"Okay," she lied.
I simply nodded, assessing her for something I had no name for. "I am sorry about what happened to you," I said.
She dipped her head, her eyes growing sharper. I noted that.
