Caleb shut the side-room door with his heel. The dress uniform jacket dropped over the back of the chair with a soft rustle. The medical tablet on the table glowed red at 103.8°F.
He felt warm but not sick. The sealed wound along his left side no longer pulled when he breathed.
The raised purple spirals across his lower ribs and stomach simply existed now, carrying a quiet heat that the tablet had already flagged as anomalous.
He stared at them in the mirror for another second, wondering how much of his body still belonged only to him.
The door opened without a knock.
