Amelia’s POV
Stacy moved and sat on the edge of the sofa, the closest to where Claire was pulled up beside it in her wheelchair. Stacy kept her hands in her lap, frowning down at them, and didn’t otherwise move.
Claire smiled at her daughter, but Stacy tried her best to not acknowledge her at all.
“What kind of symptoms do you have?” I asked Claire.
“Right now? Or always?” Claire replied, somewhat evasively. Even though she replied to me, her eyes were still on Stacy.
“Both,” I said.
“Weakness,” she said.
“And?”
“Do I need more than that?” She finally looked at me, but it was sideways, a knife slicing through the air. “Last I checked, Annette, you were not my Healer. Yet you sure ask a lot of personal questions.”
“I’m a Healer,” I said. “It’s possible I could help.”
Claire hummed
