Simon had cleared me for discharge three days ago, but he hadn’t really let me leave, not fully, and certainly not in any way that mattered. I had technically been out of the infirmary, but I wasn’t free.
I had been sleeping in Richard’s suite with simon in the guest suite next door under the pretense of recovery, though we both knew Simon had arranged it so he could monitor me around the clock.
He came in twice a day without knocking, checked my pulse, my temperature, and the tremor in my hands, and asked me questions I couldn’t always answer, what day it was, how many fingers he was holding up, whether I remembered what I had eaten for breakfast.
Once, he pressed a stethoscope to my chest and stared at the wall for a full thirty seconds without saying a word, and the tension between h
