Charlie
Noah tossed a peeled orange slice at my head.
I batted it away with a weak laugh, then immediately winced as the movement tugged at my arm. The bruising had faded from inky black to a sickly yellow, but I was still sore. Healing wasn’t linear, apparently. Especially not after being half-drowned and poisoned by a jealous water-witch in silk.
“Hey, be careful with that arm,” Noah said, instantly shifting from annoying brother-figure to the concerned nurse. “I’m serious. If you pull something and end up stuck here for another week, I’m not listening to you whine about it.”
“I don’t whine.”
“You definitely whine.”
I snorted, but my retort died in my throat as the door creaked open. My head snapped up.
Apollo stepped in, broad-shouldered and shadowed by something I couldn’t quite
