A few days later, Rafael was fine. Not 'I could run a council meeting and ruin someone's political career' fine, but fine in the way that mattered: his body wasn't screaming anymore, the worst had receded into soreness and fatigue, and the medical team had done what ether and skill were meant to do.
Marin had overseen it all with the same dry competence he brought to everything, checking Rafael like he was inventory and then nodding once, satisfied.
"You're healing well," he'd said, as if Rafael had personally agreed to it.
Rafael had blinked at him. "Thank you."
Marin had narrowed his eyes. "Don't get sentimental. It's suspicious."
Rafael had smiled anyway.
Gregoris, unfortunately, did not accept 'healing well' as a reason for anything.
Gregoris accepted 'fully recovered, completely stable, no possibility of strain' as a reason, and even then he looked like he was considering whether 'reason' was a concept that deserved respect.
