The bell above the clinic door gave a dull chime as Luke and Ilyrana stepped inside once more. The morning sun had barely warmed the streets, and yet the air inside the building was already thick with a mixture of herbal salves and quiet tension.
They found the wife and child seated together on a bench against the far wall. The boy clung close to his mother's side, eyes still wide and red-rimmed, though his face was cleaner now. A smear of salve lined a faint bruise on his forehead. The mother—pale, but upright—offered a tired but genuine smile when she saw them.
"You're back," she said, softly. Her voice was hoarse, the aftermath of tears and exhaustion. "The doctor said my son and I are mostly fine. Just bruises and scrapes."
Luke gave a nod.
"That's good to hear."
There was a brief silence before she bowed her head deeply, hands trembling as they gripped the hem of her dress.
