"I pay attention," I resumed my seat beside her bed.
Winter studied me over the rim of her cup. "You look terrible."
I stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your tie is crooked, there's a wrinkle in your shirt, and you have actual stubble." She gestured with her free hand. "I didn't even know elves could get stubble."
I resisted the urge to touch my face. Half-elves most certainly could develop facial hair, particularly when they'd neglected proper grooming for three days straight.
"My appearance is irrelevant to the current situation."
"Have you been here the whole time?" Her question was soft, curious.
I shifted uncomfortably. "Someone needed to monitor your condition."
"There are medical staff for that."
"They lack the necessary background in prophetic phenomena."
"Uh-huh." Winter took another sip of coffee, watching me over the cup's edge. "So you've just been sitting in that chair for three days? No breaks?"
"Don't be absurd," I bristled. "I took appropriate intervals for personal necessities."
"But you stayed." It wasn't a question.
I looked away, focusing on the backward-ticking clock. "It was the most efficient use of resources."
Winter was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its teasing edge. "Thank you."
The simple gratitude caught me off guard. I nodded stiffly, unsure how to respond.
"So," Winter changed the subject, mercifully, "when can I see the others? Milo, Zane, Rook?"
"They've been limited to brief, supervised visits while you were unconscious. The quarantine protocols restrict extended contact."
"But you're allowed to stay?"
"I have the highest security clearance." It wasn't precisely an answer. The truth was more complicated. I'd pulled rank, called in favors, and threatened to file so much paperwork that the entire department would drown in it if anyone tried to remove me from Winter's room.
"What about Frank and Horrace?" She was so stubborn. "I need to see them."
"As I said, I'll arrange for Horrace's return once you're stabilized. As for your fish, I believe Milo has been caring for it with his usual enthusiasm."
Winter smiled at that. "He's probably teaching Frank to do tricks with his skeleton crew."
The mental image of tiny skeletons conducting fish training was so absurd that I nearly smiled. I caught myself just in time, maintaining my professional demeanor.
"Winter," I changed the subject, "about what happened at the breach. The medical team needs a full account of your experience with these 'Harbingers.' It may help us understand your current condition."
Her expression sobered. "They're not what I expected. Not exactly villains, more like cosmic bureaucrats?"
"Bureaucrats?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry," she gave me a small smile. "No offense. But they talked about prophecies like they were just doing a job. Creating them, maintaining them. They seemed genuinely confused by mine because they didn't write it."
I made more mental notes. This aligned with certain obscure texts in the Bureau's restricted archives, ones that suggested prophecies were not natural phenomena but designed interventions.
"And they attempted to alter these prophecies? The fragments you absorbed?"
