A row of charcoal numerals tracked the slow passage of days across the freshly plastered wall of the clinic recovery room.
Hajin woke before the morning bells rang across the district, testing each finger against his linen blanket in the dim dawn light.
His recuperating conduits circulated a gentle warmth through his chest, operating strictly within the safe boundaries established by the physician.
He refrained from lifting anything more substantial than a teacup until Vella completed her routine diagnostic inspection each morning.
Across the corridor, Ferra moved her bracket repair workbench closer to the clinic doorway to offer quiet companionship during the quiet recovery hours.
Every completed brass fitting she polished carried greater significance for the settlement's infrastructure than any hasty tally of forge weight.
"Conduits are showing seventy percent clearance today, Commander," Vella stated, pressing her cool fingers against the base of his neck.
