“Thank you,” she said, trying to penetrate the depths of his eyes. Whatever he hid there, she would break down that wall little by little. She knew him better than anyone. Tilda would never understand Kormac, not like she did.
The omelette on her plate smelt delicious. Bacon, cheese, olives, semi-dried tomatoes, red onion, chives, assorted herbs… real food! Her mother had always said the hospital had its own farm in the basements.
By the end of the dish – three minutes, at most – Kaiya was forcing the last of it down her throat. Her body struggled, insisting that it wanted no more, but she refused to listen. She would be master. She groaned to herself after the final, tiniest scraps had been consumed, and sank down into her bed. She stared out the windows, sprawled and replete, breathing
