Realluxury.
The kind I vaguely remember from childhood, from the estate my family owned before everything burned. The kind I haven't experienced since I was twelve years old and the world was still a place where I could sleep without one hand on a blade.
I frown, trying to make sense of it.
My fingers flex against the sheets—open, close, open, close—four times each, a rhythm that's become as natural as breathing.
"Ro?"
The word comes out scratchy.
Weak.
My throat feels like someone scraped it with sandpaper, and there's an aftertaste in my mouth that I recognize from bitter experience—the lingering residue of medicine. Or antidote.
The poison.
The memory crashes back in.
The theater. The dance. The caged men. The blood dripping from my nose as my body started to fail. Sage's arms catching me when my knees buckled.
"Maybe drinking poison by force was a wrong call."
A giggle escapes—high and cracked and borderline hysterical.
You think?
Movement catches my attention.
A familiar sphere rises from somewhere near my pillow, hovering into my field of vision with the soft whir of micro-propellers. Ro's sensors blink—once, twice—before her synthesized voice fills the quiet room.
"Health levels have stabilized. I am grateful for your ongoing companionship and recovery."
The formal phrasing is soRo—clinical and precise but somehow managing to convey genuine emotion through algorithmic parameters I never quite understood how to program.
"Thanks, Ro," I murmur, rubbing at my eyes with the heels of my palms. The movement is clumsy, uncoordinated, my body still sluggish from whatever chemical cocktail is working through my system. "What happened?"
"You followed through with your orders before unconsciousness."
Orders.
Right.
I remember that too—telling Ro to play the recording. To expose Kai's father's betrayal. To make sure they knew the truth about why we were all here, even if I didn't survive long enough to see their reactions.
"After your loss of consciousness, I remained in standby mode to monitor your vital signs." Ro's voice is matter-of-fact, recounting events like a witness statement. "The pack member designated 'Jett' administered an antidote. The pack member designated 'Blaze' utilized oral transfer methodology to deliver the compound. Transportation to current location occurred approximately four hours and seventeen minutes ago."
Oral transfer methodology.
I blink.
Process.
"Blaze kissed me?"
"Affirmative. The heated antidote required immediate delivery. Kiss was determined to be most efficient method given your unconscious state."
A snort escapes me.
