“Jasper,” she mutters in response. She’s barely looked at Xavier since she met us in the medical wing. I’m surprised she even answered Poppy’s SOS once she learned Xavier Ford was the patient in question.
“Our favorite smuggler,” Xavier cracks.
“Yourfavorite smuggler,” I correct. “You’re the one who stayed up all night partying with him.”
“He’s funny.” Xavier glances at the stone-faced healer. “A lot funnier than anyone else in this place.”
Fiona marches toward a bed and stiffly gestures for Xavier to sit. His sleeve is torn from where the ridgehowler got her teeth into it, flaps of fabric hanging off him. Without a word, she grabs a pair of medical scissors and cuts the sleeve off at the shoulder.
I wince when jagged chunks of flesh are revealed. The wound is still oozing blood, but not too badly. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but infections can get nasty if a wound is left untreated.
“How are you standing around cracking jokes when your arm looks like that?” I demand.
He just grins. “Honestly had worse.”
Fiona rubs her hands together and goes to sit beside Xavier. “Poppy says you shoved your arm directly into a ridgehowler’s jaws?”
He shrugs. “It was about to sink those jaws into your kid.”
Fiona would clearly rather be anywhere but here, but it’s as if a sense of honor is driving her actions. She voted against letting Xavier out of the cells. Gray told me. Now she owes her daughter’s life to him. The internal moral dilemma must be eating her alive.
“This shouldn’t take long,” she says.
Undeterred by the blood, she firmly plants both hands on the gash.
I was healed by a Mod for the first time at the Command base. Ellis, who’s working undercover there, healed my broken wrist. It was a surreal experience to literally feel my bones knitting back together.
Watching it happen to someone else is just as fascinating. Fiona takes a deep breath as if trying to center herself, drawing energy from within her own body. Her fingers begin to twitch as she closes her palms over Xavier’s muscular forearm.
In her short sleeves, her arms are fully visible, and I watch her veins begin to undulate. The ripples are confined to her arms, though, not like how Hawkins’s entire body glowed when he showed me how to tap into the gold frequency.
Xavier gives a sharp intake of breath, his jaw clenching. He winces when she presses down harder, but Fiona doesn’t apologize.
I watch in amazement as the gash begins to heal, closing up, torn flesh fusing together, but I don’t see the full effect until after Fiona cleans his arm with a sterile gel cloth. The blood is wiped away and only Xavier’s forearm remains. Brand fucking new. I can’t even tell where the wound used to be. His arm is a seamless expanse of golden flesh.
As Fiona stands, Xavier examines his arm, then flexes it.
“Any pain?” I ask him.
“Nope. Good as new.”
He glances at Fiona, opening his mouth to thank her, but her hand slices the air to silence him.
“I won’t pretend to trust you,” she says flatly. “Because I don’t.”
Amusement flickers in his eyes. “Okay.”
“But you saved my daughter’s life today, and for that, I’m grateful.” Her jaw works as she struggles to get her next words out. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Chapter 24
Word of Xavier’s heroic feat spreads through the Dagger. Sadly, it doesn’t win him points from anyone other than Poppy.
But you’ve got to start somewhere, right?
When we enter the mess hall for breakfast the next day, I notice that some of the cold stares usually directed at him have thawed a little. Not long after we’re seated, Poppy shyly walks over to inquire about his arm.
“Like it never even happened,” he assures her, holding up his forearm.
