A few days passed before Lucien could finally move without feeling as though every muscle in his body had been beaten with a hammer.
The recovery itself was almost more frustrating than the pain.
He had grown so accustomed to injuries closing within moments that waiting for bruises to fade and strained muscles to heal felt absurdly slow. Even the small cuts along his arms had taken days to disappear completely.
On the fourth morning, Lucien sat outside the modest wooden house and stretched one leg carefully.
A dull ache answered.
He stared at it.
"So this is what normal recovery feels like."
Cienna, who was sorting herbs beneath the shade nearby, glanced at him.
"Darling, you sound surprised."
Lucien immediately looked away.
"Just complaining."
"You have always been good at that."
Lucien almost protested before another memory surfaced and informed him that she was correct.
He decided silence was safer.
