"I'll arrange for his return once you're stabilized."
The surprise on her face might have been comical under different circumstances. "Really? Just like that? No argument about Bureau regulations?"
I straightened my already impeccable tie. "The entity's connection to you appears to be prophetically significant. Separating you may be counterproductive."
That wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. The fact was, I'd spent three days watching her lie motionless, wondering if she would ever wake up. Bureau protocols suddenly seemed less important than they had before.
What was going on with me?
Winter studied me with those perceptive gray eyes. "Where am I, exactly? This doesn't look like a regular hospital room."
"You're in the Bureau's quarantine facility. Given the unusual nature of your condition, it was deemed prudent to monitor you in a controlled environment."
"Quarantine?" Her eyebrow rose. "Am I contagious or something?"
"Not precisely. However, your prophetic energy has become unstable. There have been incidents."
"What kind of incidents?"
I hesitated, then decided honesty was the most efficient approach. "Temporal fluctuations. Small reality distortions. The plants in your room bloomed out of season, died, and were reborn seventeen times yesterday. And the clock on your wall has been running backwards since Tuesday."
Winter glanced at the wall clock, which was indeed ticking counterclockwise. "Oh."
"Indeed."
She was quiet for a moment, processing this information. "How long do I have to stay here?"
"Until the medical team determines you're stable enough for release." I consulted my mental schedule. "Dr. Thornwick wishes to run some tests now that you're conscious."
Winter's hand moved to her arm, tracing the blue markings with a gentle finger. "They're inside me now. All those broken prophecies. I can feel them sometimes, like whispers."
I made another mental note for my report. "Can you understand what they're saying?"
"Not really. It's like overhearing conversations in another room." She looked up at me suddenly. "Have the Harbingers attacked again? Since I've been here?"
"No," I frowned. "Which is, frankly, suspicious. The cultist activity has ceased entirely since the breach incident."
"They're regrouping," Winter seemed certain. "Planning something new."
The conviction in her voice sent an uncharacteristic chill down my spine. I'd spent my career documenting magical phenomena, categorizing threats, filing the appropriate paperwork. But something about this situation defied categorization. The protocols I'd relied on for years suddenly seemed inadequate.
Winter shifted in the bed, wincing again. "I need coffee. Please tell me there's coffee in this quarantine prison."
The request was so mundane, so human amidst all this supernatural chaos that I found myself almost smiling. "Bureau medical facilities do not typically provide caffeinated beverages to patients."
"Of course they don't," she sighed dramatically.
It was kind of cute. I'd never admit it out-loud, but I could think it.
I hesitated, then stood. "I'll return shortly."
Twenty minutes later, I re-entered her room carrying a paper cup from the Bureau's staff cafeteria. It had required signing three different authorization forms and enduring a lecture from the medical supervisor about proper patient nutrition, but the look on Winter's face when I handed her the coffee made the bureaucratic ordeal worth it.
"You actually got me coffee?" She inhaled the steam with obvious pleasure. "I thought for sure you were going to come back with some lecture about protocols and proper hydration."
"The lecture was included with the coffee," I admitted. "I simply chose not to relay it."
She took a sip and made a small sound of appreciation that caused an unexpected warmth in my chest. "Black with two sugars and oat milk. How did you know how I take it?"
