They came in groups at first.
Two suits. Then three. Then sometimes just one, as if that made it gentler.
They ignored the signs on the door. The ones that said REST. LIMITED STIMULATION. NO UNNECESSARY VISITORS. They smiled at the nurses, thanked them for their time, and they spoke in the calm, reasonable tones of people who were used to getting what they wanted.
Maura Klein always stood closest to the bed.
Scarlet lay propped against pillows, smaller than she should’ve been, her body still tethered to quiet machines. Adhesive marks ghosted her skin. Bruises faded unevenly. Her throat burned constantly, raw from the tube that had kept her alive for weeks. Speech still wasn’t possible. Writing exhausted her after a few minutes, her hand trembling as if it didn’t quite trust itself yet.
