Rowan's POV
I woke up to the smell of food.
Though it wasn't the dining hall smell that drifted through corridors sometimes, faint and institutional, but close, specific, right there in the room, and I opened my eyes slowly and found a tray on the small desk beside the bed, covered carefully with a cloth to keep it warm.
I sat up.
My chest pulled immediately, reminding me with considerable enthusiasm that I had ripped open a healing wound last night and it had opinions about that. I pressed my hand against it and breathed through it and looked around the room.
Ash was already dressed. Hair damp, sitting at the desk with a book open in front of him, and he looked up when I moved and then looked back down at his book like he hadn't been waiting for me to wake up.
I looked at the tray.
