KIERANHe came back to consciousness the way you came back from deep water — slow, reluctant, the world arriving in pieces before the whole picture assembled itself. Ceiling tiles first. Then the specific smell of a hospital, that chemical-clean overlay that never quite covered the underneath of it. Then the sound of something beeping at a steady, indifferent rhythm somewhere to his left.Then the pain, which was still there but different — muted, wrapped in something pharmaceutical, existing at the distance of a thing being managed rather than a thing happening to him. He took stock of that without moving. Pain present, controlled. IV in his right arm. Monitor leads somewhere under the gown. The gown itself, which meant someone had changed him into it at some point, which was a thought he set aside to feel terrible about later.Dr. Chen was in the chair beside the bed.Not sitting in the way of someone waiting — sitting in the way of someone who'd been there long enough that the wait
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