Damien’s POV
I was up at five-forty. Not because anything required it. The ward didn't need me at five-forty — no assessments, no scheduled anything, nobody coming through my door for another two hours minimum. I was up because I'd been awake since four-thirty and the ceiling had run out of things to tell me.
I did the corridor laps first. Four of them, slow, the pace Nora had specified. My left side had continued its gradual retreat from the active conversation it had been having with me for weeks — quieter now, more of a comment than an argument. The silver was almost clear. The wound was closing correctly.
By seven-thirty I had done everything the morning required. It was seven-thirty.
Rhen called at eight.
"Brenn," I said, instead of hello.
"Working on it." The sound of him movin
