The familiar, bitter scent of boiling mugwort and raw alcohol filled Heena's lungs as she slowly opened her eyes. She was back on the hard wooden examination table in the clinic's back room, staring up at the water-stained ceiling beams.
Beside her, the System was anxiously pacing in mid-air, its digital tail tucked between its legs. Ren was hovering nervously at the edge of the table, holding a fresh ceramic bowl of sharp grain alcohol and a threaded bone needle, his pale face tight with worry.
Heena didn't offer a witty remark. She didn't roll her eyes or complain about the hard wood beneath her face. She was not in the mood at all.
Because, honestly, beneath the cold, aristocratic mask she had worn in that alley, she was scared as hell.
