“Name?" the intake nurse asked, fingers flying.
“Sarah Knight," Sarah said.
“Mechanism of injury?"
“Knife. Left palm. Shallow."
“Vitals?"
“Steady," Alex answered.
The nurse slid a wristband over Sarah's hand, careful of the gauze. “We'll get you into sutures. Any dizziness? Nausea?"
“Only from fluorescent lighting," Sarah said.
“We can't fix that," the nurse replied dryly. “Room twelve."
Alex pushed the wheelchair because hospitals like rituals even when people can walk. He parked her by the bed, then stood where she could see him without turning her head. Emily hovered with a tote. Mason took the doorframe, an immovable idea in a bad chair.
Mr. Knight arrived like a verdict, tie a degree askew, eyes scanning for threat and paperwork. “Status?"
“Cosmetic," Alex said. “Messy. Bor
