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We had made it.

The thought should have been reassuring.

It wasn’t.

I tried to sit, and pain tore through my side before a medical restraint field activated immediately. Not physical restraints. Pressure settled across my shoulders and forced me back against the bed.

“Do not.”

The voice came from my right.

I turned.

An older male stood beside the monitoring equipment, muted white ŭre visible beneath his skin. He looked irritated.

That was promising.

I attempted to move again.

His irritation deepened. “If you tear the reconstruction seal, I will sedate you.”

“Talia.”

“Alive.”

“Where?”

“Nearby.”

“Define nearby.”

His expression flattened. “Close enough that she has asked that question about you six times.”

Relief hit too hard.

I closed my eyes briefly.

When I opened them, the medic was watching me.

“Your regenerative response is impaired.”

So what else is new?

I looked down. My chest and side were covered in layered medical seals, silver-white circuitry pulsing beneath them as my ŭre gathered around the damage.

Slow. Too slow.

“Old injury.”

“I noticed.”

He adjusted something on the monitor. “Your ŭre is compensating poorly for major trauma.”

“It is functioning.”

The medic gave me a look that suggested he had already heard enough of me. “That word is banned in this room.”

I stared at him.