CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“MADAM, MAY I ASK WHERE you are going with this patient?” The guard’s voice was deep and scratchy, and Mich fought her desire to clear her throat in sympathy.
“To the garden, my dear.”
The guard straightened. His eyes drifted over Mich again, one eyebrow raised in question. She wondered what the question was. The door swung wide with a creak that pierced the back of her skull and crawled all the way down her spine.
Her wheelchair was pushed across the threshold onto a wide porch, where she was hit with a blast of icy air that cut deep into her chest. She moaned at the pain, wanting to clasp her arms across her chest, but they were strapped to the chair.
“Bracing, isn’t it, my dear?”
She was wheeled along the porch, past the stairs to a ramp she didn’t realize hug
