Elara's POV "Seven hours," the surgeon said. "Eight, if the vessel's stickier than the imaging suggests. I won't lie to make the morning easier." "Don't," I said. "I've had enough people manage me gently this month." She nodded once and went through the doors, and the doors swung, and settled, and became simply a wall. Noah sat with his knees drawn up, a puzzle book open and untouched. Emily pressed against my side, her hand closed loosely around two of my fingers. "Is Grandpa Dave going to wake up funny," Noah asked, pencil still. "He might sound strange for a day or two. Tired. Slower than usual." "Okay." He went back to the puzzle, and I watched the pencil not move for a full minute before it finally did. Ian came in an hour later with coffee and two juice boxes produced from somewhere without being asked. Noah took his without looking up. Emily took hers and said, "Thank you, Ian," in the tone she reserved for people she'd decided were permanent. He sat across from me in
Read more