***
“Alright, little warrior,” came a deep voice like gravel soaked in honey. “Time to suffer.”
Frank grinned down at her, massive and skin like milk chocolate, with thick dreadlocks tied back and a clipboard clutched like a blunt weapon. He smelled faintly of mint chewing gum and lavender oil. Somehow, it worked.
“Not you again,” Faolan groaned. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. I dream about it at night.” He winked. “Come on. Let’s get those lungs moving before they collapse out of sheer laziness.”
He guided her gently but firmly into a sitting position, supporting her back as she hissed from the sudden stretch of healing ribs.
“I hate you,” she muttered, one arm cradled awkwardly against her chest.
“Everyone does. Means I’m doing my job right.” He dropped the clipboard on her tray and handed her a flutter bag and tube. “You’re gonna breathe in through this. Slow and deep, like you’re sniffing out lies on a date.”
She snorted, then winced. “Ribs, Frank.”
“Then stop laughing. Deep breath in… Hold… Out… We’re keeping those alveoli open and happy. And you know what I always say…happy lungs don’t make friends with pneumonia.”
She obeyed, teeth clenched. The resistance in the tubing made her feel like she was fighting the air itself.
Frank glanced toward the doorway, then leaned in, dropping his voice. “Your ghost’s back.”
She didn’t need to look. She felt Thane like a draft on the back of her neck. “Ignore him.”
Frank arched an eyebrow. “Hard to. He looks like he wants to wrestle me for being within three feet of you.”
“He’s just jealous of your biceps. Or maybe it is me he is jealous of.”
“That makes sense. I mean”—Frank flexed dramatically—“look at these puppies. National treasures.”
She laughed, then immediately regretted it. The sharp catch of pain in her side stole the sound away, leaving her hunched and gasping.
“Breathe. Easy now. Don’t fight the breath. Remember, chest physio is crucial after rib fractures.” His tone softened. “Come on, Faolan. You’ve been through worse. This is just breathing. You’ve got this.”
She nodded, blinking back tears of pain and frustration.
Later that evening, her father arrived in his uniform, still smelling faintly of stale cigarettes.
“They’ve arranged psychological clearance before you come back,” he said, trying to look stern but only looking worried. “It’s mandatory. No shortcuts. Daddy is not going to get you out of this one.”
“I figured.”
“And the Horsemen…they wanted you transferred to a private place near York. It’s supposed to have a good rehab team, and better security. Maybe…”
She shook her head. “No. I am staying here. Who is to say it’s not a loony bin?”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded and placed a small bag on her bedside. “Clean clothes. The cast’s going to make changing hell, but I added scissors. Just don’t tell your nurse.”
She couldn’t sleep that night. Between the ache in her ribs, the weight of the cast, and the soft coughs and murmurs from the other beds, rest was a holy grail, forever out of reach.
When she finally looked toward the open bay door, Thane was there, just beyond it, sitting in one of the waiting chairs. It was as if he was guarding her. Or he was afraid she would escape.
When she looked at him, he looked away. His head bowed and hands clenched.
He was always watching from the shadows, like he didn’t know how to step into the light.
She turned her face toward the wall.
