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His eye found me first.

Then Owen.

“Brace gone.”

“I see that.”

Owen touched his shoulder lightly.

“You look wrecked.”

“Thank you.”

“Professional assessment.”

I unloaded the chair.

Noah tried to stand for the transfer and his knees nearly folded.

I caught him beneath the arms.

“No.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are asleep with your eye open.”

“Efficient.”

His words had blurred.

I lowered him into the chair.

The stair lift waited at the rear entrance, but Noah stared at it without moving.

“Too much?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Use the downstairs room.”

“No.”

“You can rest there.”

“Want upstairs.”

“You do not have to prove anything.”

“Not proving.”

His eye closed.

“Bed.”

The word came quietly.

I looked at the narrow stairs, the mechanical chair, the exhaustion in his face.