Third person's POV
Th moment Quince got home, she rushed to Moxie's room. Her mind has been occupied with thoughts of Moxie ever since she called to tell her that she was stranded. She hoped Moxie was already.
“Moxie, are you—”
She pushed the door open and gasped. Moxie sat on the bed, her leg stretched out carefully in front of her, the swelling around her ankle impossible to miss even beneath the bandage. The ice pack rested against it, slightly melted now, her posture stiff, as if she were trying not to move too much. For a second, Quince didn’t speak, she just stared.
“What the hell happened?” She gasped at last as she crossed the room in two quick steps, dropping onto the edge of the bed beside her.
“I’m fine,” Moxie started, instinctively.
“You’re not fine.” Quince reached ou
