Rong Ye woke up late. Light streamed through the clinic window in faint lines, illuminating the empty cots around him. Silence enveloped him, broken only by distant footsteps or the clatter of utensils.
He sat up carefully, bracing on one elbow and then the other. The movement forced him to stifle a groan. His right side still ached as if his bones hadn't quite settled back into place.
Every breath reminded him that his ribs had been broken, patched together only with bandages, herbs, and stubborn will. No machines, no real medicine. Just the refusal of others to let him die.
Even so, what bothered him most wasn't his body. What put him in a foul mood was the memory of Caelan flirting with a woman.
He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. It made no sense for that to affect him. He didn't like Caelan, he repeated over and over. It was absurd to be upset about something so ridiculous.
