"Yes," I said.
"When?"
"Last night."
"Where?"
I hesitated. The memory felt private, something I had been holding carefully. But she was waiting, and her attention did not move.
"Here," I said, touching my chest. "And later behind my eyes."
Her fingers pressed slightly more firmly against my wrist.
"Did it hurt?" she asked.
"No."
"Dizziness?"
"No."
"Did your hearing change?"
"I noticed sounds earlier than usual."
"Smell?"
"Maybe sharper. I'm not sure."
She released my wrist slowly. Her expression had changed again, but I still could not read it. She stood and took a step back, then returned. Her movements were measured, as if she was organizing thoughts before speaking again. I watched her carefully.
"How long did the warmth last?" she asked.
"Less than a minute."
"And the
