“Morning, Hart,” Gladys says, sweeping in like a commander reviewing troops. “Still alive?”
“As far as I can tell,” I say. “Though I’d like a second opinion from someone who isn’t enjoying this.”
She snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t enjoy hauling scientists out of the woods. It ruins my coffee breaks.”
Gladys sets a clipboard at the foot of the bed, crosses her arms, and gives me the kind of look that could peel paint off walls. The woman radiates competent authority. If the forest ever staged a coup, it would put her in charge.
“How’s the head?” she asks.
“Better,” I say truthfully. “Still a bit of a bass drum in there. Painkillers help.”
“You dizzy when you stand?”
“Only if I move too fast. Or look up. Or look down. Or exist.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Okay,” I amend, “but really—it’s improving.”
Before she can grill me further, another voice pipes up cheerfully from the doorway.
“Well, hey, fancy seeing you vertical!”
Sam leans in, wearing that trademark ranger grin that probably makes half the hikers swoon. His uniform shirt is slightly too tight across the shoulders. He’s holding a coffee mug with a cartoon bear flexing its biceps and the phraseBEARLY AWAKEprinted across it.
“Morning,” I say, amused.
He looks me over like he’s cataloging injuries. “Glad you’re on the mend,” he says. “That was a hell of a call to get. You gave us all a scare.”
I shrug, only wincing a little. “Trust me, it scared me too.”
Sam steps farther in, leaning casually against the wall. “If you need help getting back to your station later, I can always?—”
But before he can finish that sentence, a flash of something?—
A memory?
A dream?
No. Something I felt.
Strong arms lifting me like I weigh nothing. Warm skin. A chest against my back. The rhythmic sway of being carried. A voice—low, rough, grumbling words that somehow made me feel safe.
For a second, my breath catches.
“You okay?” Sam asks, concern flickering over his face.
“I—yeah,” I say quickly, blinking it away. “Just spaced out.”
I absolutely am not telling him I had a hallucination of being carried through the forest by a giant naked lumberjack who complained affectionately about humans. That’s not medically advisable information to disclose.
“Anyway,” Sam continues, clearly undeterred, “when you’re back on your feet, maybe we could revisit that phone-number-for-safety-coordination plan.”
I laugh, because it’s all I can do. My brain is still somewhere else, floating between half-remembered impressions and confusing warmth.
“Sam,” Gladys says sharply without looking at him.
“What?” he protests.
