The sound of furniture being dragged across stone wakes me, not abruptly but with that half-awareness that comes when sleep has been shallow and careful, and I lie there for a moment staring at the ceiling while my brain tries to decide whether this is a threat or simply another adjustment I did not ask for. The bond hums low and steady, close enough that I do not panic, and when I turn my head slightly I see Adam standing near the foot of my bed, sleeves rolled up, expression focused in the way he gets when he is making a decision he believes is nonnegotiable.
There is a second bed in the room.
It is narrow and utilitarian and unmistakably not mine, and two healers are easing it into place with practiced efficiency, lining it up so closely beside my own that the space between the frames
