The next reading was better.
Maelis did not let me celebrate it.
"Again after the pause," she said.
I settled back into the chair. Seraphina rested her hands on the clean part of the table, watching the wound without pretending she could improve it by staring harder.
The sharp pressure had eased. In its place was an ordinary ache, spread through the wrist and the tired muscles of the forearm. I disliked it less because I could tell her where it was.
She asked me to do exactly that.
"Here. Along the inside. The cold feeling is less."
"The fingers?"
"Still uneven. Better than when I arrived."
She compared the response at two points and withdrew her hand. No promise that better meant finished.
During the final application, I watched the light work along the edge of the damaged skin. It gathered where the tissue could respond and stopped where the old scar would not. The difference remained visible even after the fresh bleeding ended.
