Soren woke wrong.
Not the homing this time. That hole had healed shut overnight, the slack line gone taut again on the far side of choice.
This was lower. The floor of himself sat a notch under where it used to.
He lay still and took the reading without a meter.
A worn coat pulled a season thinner. The level he'd felt drop in the dark had found its new resting place and stayed there.
He'd known the cost going in. He had not known it would keep a record.
Mona was already up.
◆◆◆◆
She sat at the foot of the bed with her lenses on, watching him.
She did that some mornings now.
But she usually watched the door, or the corner, or her own new hands like she still didn't trust them to be hers.
This morning she watched his chest. The place over the braid.
"I'm fine," Soren said.
"Augh."
"I am."
She tipped her head.
The lenses caught the gray coming through the window and threw it back flat.
She'd felt it.
