The salve had worked surprisingly well. Three times a day, Beck came in and spread it on her wounds. They had fixed themselves shut, and, finally, after two weeks, her stitches could almost come out.
He was just coming in to put it on for the morning dose. Adara heard the scrape of metal against metal as he opened the pot. Without warning, the cold gel was pressed against her cuts. She clenched her stomach against the pain.
Even though her stitches were ready to come out, it was still very difficult for her to move. Her back was constantly on fire, unlike her hands. No matter how hard she had tried, she couldn't summon a flame to her hand. No matter which memory she brought up, no matter the pain she recalled.
"So," Beck began, "this morning has been uneventful." Adara wanted to groan,
