The deep medical lab is quiet, save for the rhythmic, mechanical hiss of the ventilator and the steady, rapid beeping of the cardiac monitor. It is a sound that has become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.
Asher is asleep on the central examination table, his small chest rising and falling in a deep, exhausted rhythm. He is stripped to the waist, his skin pale and slick with a thin sheen of sweat. The physical toll of the remote Iowa prune is evident in the dark, bruised circles beneath his eyes and the slight tremor in his fingers, even in sleep.
Margot stands beside him, adjusting the IV drip that pumps a heavy cocktail of caloric supplements and neuro-protectants into his bloodstream. Her face is drawn, her silver-streaked hair escaping its bun, but her eyes are bright with clini
