She still had her breeches, but her shirt was off. Orfeus rolled her eyes around and relaxed when she saw it draped on a stool beside her, though in enough pieces she doubted she could salvage it. Still, perhaps she could use the fabric for something. Orfeus tried to sit up enough to get a look at her side.

“Lie down,” the Owl scolded. Orfeus lay back down quickly. Wise. Pain surged and swelled, rolled back. She shouldn’t be feeling this calm; they must have given her something.

“I lasted ten minutes into my Trial, which was rather better,” the Owl said, chattily, as they turned and lifted up an instrument from a tray, considered it, and set it aside for a different one. “But I just hid for the first seven. The fight-all-comers approach never works out well except for the real brawlers, and they manage maybe five minutes, six.”

Orfeus lay there thoughtfully as the Owl bent to apply soft gauze to her side. She twisted it in her mind, looking from different angles: it felt like she was floating above the blue-walled arena, looking down. “So you’re meant to lose?” she said.

The Owl hummed. They straightened and squirted some antiseptic on their hands, rubbing them together briskly, and a clean, stinging scent rose up. “Mm, not exactly,” they said. “Some fights can’t be won, that’s all.”

Orfeus closed her eyes. “They can if there’s eight of you.”

The Owl clapped their hands together and said approvingly, “Yes, exactly! We fight best together.”

That wasn’t really what she’d gotten out of it. But Orfeus lay quiet. These people were dangerous, and talking too much had already won her so many enemies and lost her far too many friends.

Cool, clinical hands dabbed something stinging against her cuts. Orfeus attempted to eyeball her torso without moving her head, which didn’t go well. She could just about make out long red welts. The Starfish’s whips had left their mark. At least it didn’t look to have broken the skin.

“You can come in each morning for me to do this, when I’m not on assignment,” the Owl said. They seemed chatty. “Or I can give you the cream, and you can get your partner to do it for you or do it yourself.”

“Do it myself,” Orfeus said very firmly. She reconciled herself to the notion by the fact that this way, none of them could judge her for using a mirror. If they did, maybe she could just stab them anyway? The etiquette was unclear.

“Ha, I thought so. As long as you do it daily. Those whips can make odd scars.” The Owl washed their hands. “I also gave you an antivenom while you were unconscious, I hope that’s alright.”