Ella
“All right,” the doctor says, sweeping into the room where Sinclair and I are resting together on my hospital bed, my head on my mate’s shoulder as we watch some daytime soap opera. I perk up at the doctor’s entrance, eager to hear what he has to say. Sinclair gives a little groan as he sits up and puts his feet on the ground, standing next to the bed to hear the news. I know that he’s not tired – instead, I think it’s the opposite. All of these days and hours cooped up here in this little room have made him terribly restless. I reach out and take Sinclair’s hand, thanking him, silently, for all he’s done for me.
“Well?” Sinclair asks, tucking his other hand to his pocket. He looks levelly at the doctor, who has given me perhaps a hundred tests since I woke up a few days ago. Ever
