After the meeting, I stop by the café downstairs to grab a snack. By the time I return to Peter’s room, he’s awake and looking for me.
“Where were you?” he asks, pushing up to a sitting position—with noticeably less effort this time. His healing speed is remarkable—either that, or his pain tolerance is off the charts. He didn’t even wince, though the movement must’ve pulled at the stitches in his side.
I’m tempted to urge him to lie back down regardless, but I refrain. He seems much more alert now, his gray eyes sharply intent as he stares at me, and I know it won’t be long before he’s back to his usual self.
“I was talking to one of the doctors,” I tell him, walking over to perch on the edge of his bed. “He offered me a job.”
Peter’s eyebrows pull together. “Here? At this place?”
“Ye
