29
“If you try eating something, I’ll let you get up,” Mira tells me.
I know Mira well enough to recognize an ultimatum when I hear one, so I don’t bother arguing.
Besides, she’s right. I’ve been feeling pretty weak since I’ve woken up, and especially after I tried phasing into the Quiet and failed—again.
My stomach chooses that very moment to growl, and Mira gives me her signature ‘I told you so’ look.
I examine the hospital food she’s brought me, wrinkle my nose, and say, “I’ll try these pseudo-mashed potatoes that I suspect are made from powder.”
“Good,” she says. “The Jell-O is also pretty decent. I had some myself. Even a hospital can’t f**k up Jell-O.”
As I eat, Mira gives me an update on what happened while I was sleeping. The news sites are already covering what they think h
