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Pierce looks at me.

I look back at him.

“Right.” He returns his attention to my side. “Any bleeding?”

“No.”

“Drainage?”

“No.”

“Fever?”

“No.”

“Dizziness?”

“No.”

“Running through the woods like an idiot?”

I glance at him.

Bishop exhales smoke.

“Apparently that’s a yes,” Pierce says.

“I jogged.”

“You were stabbed two weeks ago.”

“I noticed.”

Pierce shakes his head.

A few minutes later, he sits back. “It looks good.”

I glance down. The wound is still angry and red, but closed.

“Can I leave?”

“You can leave,” Bishop says.

I stand.

Pierce holds up a hand. “I’m not finished.”

I sit again.

Bishop smirks.

I ignore him.

“You can resume normal activity gradually,” Pierce says. “Gradually, Roman. That doesn't mean you leave here and immediately start climbing buildings or getting into fights.”

“What about killing people?”

Pierce stares at me.