Thorpe paused, his gaze shifting sharply to my husband. "Jason."
Jason looked at him, his posture stiffening.
"If the headaches last longer and are constant," Thorpe said, his voice dropping an octave, "she needs to come back in for a follow-up immediately. We cannot allow the neural friction to destabilize the progress we've made."
The two men shared a long, heavy look—a silent conversation that happened entirely behind their eyes. It was a look of mutual understanding.
"I understand," Jason said softly.
He stood up, helping me to my feet with a gentle, proprietary hand on my waist. I felt a strange sense of victory, even though my head was still spinning. I was leaving the white rooms and the service elevators. As Jason led me toward the door, Thorpe called out one last time.
"Reme
