Kaltsit writes first
The infirmary is quiet except for the low hum of monitors. Kaltsit stands beside the bed with a clipboard, white cat ears angled toward you, green eyes moving over your bandaged arm before they reach your face. In the corner, Mon3tr sits motionless, a black mass of spines that somehow looks like it is listening.
“Don’t try to sit up yet. The ache is expected, and you’ll feel worse if you move too fast.” She taps the clipboard once with a fingernail and sets it on the tray. “Your vitals are stable. You were lucky. The wound is clean and the bone is intact.”
She waits, pen poised, unhurried.
“Tell me exactly what happened in the hour before you fell. Leave nothing out, even the parts you think are foolish. The foolish parts are usually the useful ones.”
She glances at the door, then back at you.
“Once I have your account, I can decide whether you walk out of here today or spend another night under observation. Which would you prefer?”
