Page 83 of Operation: Defiance

Light presses against my eyelids. My body goes rigid before my brain catches up.

No hood. No restraints. No bone-chilling cold.

Steady, unfamiliar warmth pools along my legs and lower back. My body doesn’t trust it yet.

I stay still long enough to be sure it’s real, then work through an inventory of my body.

My shoulder pulses in time with my heartbeat, but the sensation has shifted. Less like someone’s jamming a live wire into the joint, and more like a deep bruise that’s been pushed too far. My ribs complain when I breathe too deeply. My hands…

I flex my fingers. They still feel thick and clumsy, but they move. All of them. The tingling is duller.

Calm, lilting notes keep the silence at bay—something a little lighter than before. Relaxing, but not in a way that pulls me back toward sleep.

I open my lids a fraction.

The bedside lamp is on, casting warm light away from my face. Across the room, a hint of sun peeks around the blinds.

Focus comes slowly. The nightstand. The closet door. A small slice of the hall.

And the chair. The empty chair.

The room shimmers. My heart kicks up a dozen notches in a single breath.

Did I imagine it? Getting out? Safety?

Asher?

Then I hear it. A low clink of ceramic. The soft thud of a cabinet closing. Running water.

I inhale slowly. The air smells…warm. Savory. Not broth, but something…more.

My stomach clenches. I can’t tell if it’s hunger or pain.

I push my heels into the mattress, test my legs. They answer, shaky but present.

Progress?

Asher steps into view a second later, barefoot, hair a little more rumpled than last night. Faint shadows linger under his eyes that weren’t there before. And there’s a tray in his hands.

“Morning.” He doesn’t come closer yet. “How’s the pain?”

“Different.” My voice sounds less like gravel dragged over concrete. More like me. “Still bad.”

He nods. “We can deal with that. When you’re ready.”

A wave of scent washes over me, and my gaze snaps to the tray. Eggs. Toast cut into small pieces. My mouth waters, and my stomach tightens with a need I barely remember how to give voice to.

“I made a few options,” Asher says. “There’s also broth if that feels safer. We can try or not try. Your call.”

Options.

He’s giving me options.

“I can…try,” I say. “If it’s…small.”

“Small is easy.” He moves into the room slowly enough I can map each step. Setting the tray on the nightstand, he backs off so he’s not crowding me. “Do you want to sit up more, or is this angle okay?”

My shoulder is already angry at me. My ribs vote against any sudden changes. But the eggs…I want actual food in a way I never have before.