Se connecterBy midmorning, Cerys had been told three times that she looked like herself again. The first came from Mara, who meant it kindly.
The second came from a man carrying a crate past the hydroponics entrance.
The third came from someone Cerys barely knew, who grinned and said, “See? Knew you’d bounce back.”
Cerys smiled because arguing would have taken longer. The problem was that part of her agreed with them.
She had woken without the deep ache that
Cerys spent the day preparing for two futures and refused to give either of them the evening.By the time she left hydroponics, the moon notebook was shut in her desk drawer. Her legs were steady. Her side ached just enough to remind her not to be stupid about how much that meant.She found Elis near the dining room, carrying two cups.He looked at her, then at the second cup. “Convenient.”“You bought that before you saw me.”“I had faith.”“That is a dangerous habit,” Cerys said.“I was going to drink both if necessary.”“Worse.”He handed her the cup anyway. Cerys took it and smelled something warm, bitter, and faintly sweet.“What is it?”“Something that was described to me as coffee.”“That answer has created more questions,” Cerys said.“I recommend not asking them.”
Cerys woke the next morning with yesterday lodged in her body before she moved. For several seconds she lay still, testing nothing.That was new. Usually the first thing she did after an injury was prove the worst part had passed. Sit up. Stand. Walk. Find the edge and push on it until it moved farther away.Yesterday had taught her what happened when the edge moved back. She got out of bed more slowly than pride preferred. Her legs held. No trembling. No sudden weakness. The ordinary success should have reassured her.Instead it left room for the question Elis had not answered because he could not. What if twenty-six days were not enough?By breakfast, Cerys was tired of hearing the question in her own head.She found Elis at a small table near the end of the dining room, halfway through a meal and reading something that had nothing to do with her. He looked up when she stopped across from him.“Do you have ten minutes?”
By midmorning, Cerys had been told three times that she looked like herself again. The first came from Mara, who meant it kindly.The second came from a man carrying a crate past the hydroponics entrance.The third came from someone Cerys barely knew, who grinned and said, “See? Knew you’d bounce back.”Cerys smiled because arguing would have taken longer. The problem was that part of her agreed with them.She had woken without the deep ache that had followed her for weeks. She had dressed without thinking about which movement might pull at her side. She had walked to work at her old pace and arrived without needing to pretend she was not tired.For the first time since the last Wolf Night, a full day felt reasonable instead of like a challenge she had to win.So she decided to finish one.The morning gave her no reason to regret it. She checked what needed checking, corrected two small problems before they became la
Rhys found her before dinner with the moon notebook under her arm. Cerys knew the exact moment he recognized it.His attention dropped to the worn cover, then returned to her face. He had seen that notebook every month for years, usually in the days when the whole silo started speaking more quietly around anything that might count as a goodbye.This time, he said nothing. That was almost worse.Cerys stopped in the corridor anyway. “You can ask.”Rhys’s mouth tightened. “You meant it, then,” he said. “If you’re cleared, you’re going.”“If I decide to, yes.”The answer came easily because she had already given it to herself. Rhys looked past her toward the hydroponics level, where the end-of-shift traffic was beginning to thin.“When do you find out?”“I don’t know yet.”“And if Elis says you can?” Rhys asked.
The calendar changed what Cerys did with the next morning.Until then, recovery had been measured in small permissions. More hours on her feet. More work without someone asking whether she needed to sit down. A meal in the common room because she wanted company, not because someone had decided she should not be alone.The moon turned all of that into a countdown. Cerys arrived at the hydroponics floor early and took back three tasks she had been letting other people carry.No one argued. That should have pleased her more than it did.By midday, she had spent enough time moving between rows and checking work left by the morning crew that the ache along her side had become impossible to dismiss. It was not sharp. It did not stop her. It was simply there, a quiet reminder that functioning and finished were not the same thing.She hated how much sense that distinction made now.“Do you need me to take the lower section?” Mara asked f
Cerys slept badly and woke up unwilling to blame the kiss for any of it. That felt like progress.The rest was less convenient.By breakfast, she had replayed the corridor often enough to become irritated with herself. Elis's hand at her waist. His expression afterward. The fact that she had been the one to close the distance and had meant to do it.None of that frightened her as much as the question waiting behind it. What now? She found Elis in the smaller common room with a cup of coffee and half a piece of toast going cold beside his hand.He looked up when she entered. For one second, neither of them seemed capable of remembering how ordinary conversation worked.Then Elis said, “Morning.”Cerys took the chair across from him. “That was terrible.”“Good morning to you too.”“I meant the pause.”“I know,” Elis said.She set both hands on the table, mo







