The room beside the night desk had an ugly chair, a narrow bed, and someone outside who knew I was there.
I should have accepted it before being stabbed.
A duty healer had cleaned the cuts, closed the ordinary tissue that would hold, and wrapped the palm where the old scar had split again. He had asked whether the knife carried anything beyond its edge. I couldn't answer with certainty. He kept me under observation and made the next check a condition of leaving the hall.
No Aether work. No practice. Come back at once if the pain changed in a way the visible wounds didn't explain. I had heard similar instructions before. This time, someone else had provided most of the damage.
The security officer asked who had entered my room. I could have given him a name.
