“They never asked,” she says quietly. “The people from that place.”
I shake my head. “No.”
The word feels heavier than it sounds.
She’s quiet for a moment. Her hand hovers near the wound on my side, but doesn’t touch. “I’m sorry you went through that,” she says. “That they did those things to you.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Her apology settles differently from the others. Not like pity or fear. She says it as if she has seen the damage and would put her hands between me and every blade if time worked backward.
My throat tightens before I know what to do with it.
She checks the wound. Quick. Her fingers are light and efficient, and the touch doesn’t make me flinch this time. She’s done in a few seconds.
“Fine,” she says. “You’ll live.”
“Good.” I smile. I’m certain I do this time.
She leans against the window frame beside me. We look at the trees together. The rain has softened to a mist. The bird is still singing somewhere in the canopy. My mind is working as I take it all in.
“You talked to me,” I say.
She glances at me. “What?”
“In the room.” I’m remembering small details, pieces surfacing from different depths. “You talked. When you came in.”
Her hand goes still on the window frame. “You heard that?”
“Not all. Some parts were clearer.” The sentences are coming easier now. The more I speak, the wider the path gets. “Someone called Dara was eating.”
Sable’s lips part. She’s staring at me, her eyes bright.
“And Greta…and goats.” The corner of my mouth pulls. “In a garden.”
“The goats in the herb garden,” she says. Her voice has gone quiet.
“Yeah. And you said…there was a list. Names. People were hurting.” The memory is heavier there. I remember her voice changing, the pain that came through. “You were sad.”
She breathes out. Slow. Long. Her eyes are bright, and she turns back to the window. I watch her jaw work, as if she’s holding something together.
“I didn’t think you could hear me,” she says. “The sedation was supposed to suppress everything. You shouldn’t have been able to—”
“I know.” I look at my hands. “But your voice… It came through. When nothing else did. Like it had a way in that the drug couldn’t block.”
She’s quiet. The mist moves through the trees. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier.
“What else do you remember?”
“Your hands on me.” I say it simply. Not to embarrass her, just because it’s true. “The wet cloth. You talked while you worked. It was…” I search for the word. I can’t use “good” because it will make her uncomfortable. But it did…it felt good. “Normal. You made it feel normal. Like I was a person, not a…thing on a table.”
Her throat moves. She looks at the floorboards between her feet.
“You said you’d find my name,” I say.
She looks up. “I did say that.”
