He felt warm but not sick. The sealed wound along his left side no longer pulled when he breathed.
The raised purple spirals across his lower ribs and stomach simply existed now, carrying a quiet heat that the tablet had already flagged as anomalous.
He stared at them in the mirror for another second, wondering how much of his body still belonged only to him.
The door opened without a knock.
Elara stepped inside and let it seal behind her with a decisive click. She had shed the ceremony jacket but kept the black undersuit zipped high to her throat. A faint smear of dried grit still clung to one glove seam from the raid. She carried the folded medical report in one hand like a shield she was not sure she needed anymore. Her shoulders were tight, the kind of tension that came from hours of holding command together by sheer force of will.
"Door was closed," Caleb said, turning from the mirror to face her.
