Healing did not happen all at once.
It came in uneven layers some visible, some not. By the third morning after the rescue, the silver burns on my wrists had faded from raw blisters to tight, pink new skin that pulled whenever I rotated my hands too sharply. The medic pronounced the progress excellent. She still wrapped them lightly for protection and warned me against straining the tissue until the deeper sensitivity finished settling. I nodded through her instructions and pretended the sight of the healing marks did not still send a cold echo through my stomach.
The house remained under heightened security. Extra patrols rotated through the grounds. Windows that had been repaired still felt temporary. Every unexpected sound from the lower floor pulled my attention sideways before I cou
