She nodded and wrapped her arms around him, almost like an embrace. “Here we are,” she murmured, pulling him up. Her words landed softly in the crook of his neck, almost like a kiss. He sighed and went still, allowing himself a moment to savor the warmth of her breath against his skin.

“Are you all right?” she asked, pulling back.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, snapping out of his reverie with as much speed as a man in his condition could manage. “Sorry.”

Together, they got him into a sitting position, and Marcus took the glass and drank without assistance. It was remarkable how much that felt like a tri-umph.

“You look so much better,” Honoria said, blinking sleep from her eyes. “I— I—” She blinked again, but this time he thought it might be to keep from crying. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

He nodded and held out the glass. “More, please.”

“Of course.” She poured another and handed it to him. He drank it greedily, exhaling only when he had finished the whole thing.

“Thank you,” he said, handing it back.

She took it, set it down, then set herself back down in the chair. “I was so worried about you,” she said.

“What happened?” he asked. He remembered some of it—her mother and the scissors, the giant rabbit. And she’d called him her touchstone. He would always remember that.

“The doctor has been by to see you twice,” she told him. “Dr. Winters. The younger Dr. Winters. His father— Well, I’m not sure what happened to his father, but honestly, I don’t care to know. He never even looked at your leg. He had no idea you’d an infected wound. If he’d seen it before it got so bad, well, I suppose it all may have turned out the same.” Her lips pressed together in frustration. “But maybe not.”

“What did Dr. Winters say?” Marcus asked, then clarified, “The younger one.”

She smiled. “He thinks you’re going to keep your leg.”

“What?” He shook his head, trying to understand.

“We were afraid we might have to amputate it.”

“Oh, my God.” He felt himself sinking down into the pillows. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s probably for the best that you didn’t know it was a possibility,” she said gently.

“Oh, my God.” He couldn’t imagine life without a leg. He supposed no one could, until they had to.

She took his hand in hers. “It’s going to be all right.”

“My leg,” he whispered. He had an irrational urge to sit up and look at it, just to make sure it was still there. He forced himself to lie still; she’d surely think him beyond foolish for wanting to see it for himself. But it hurt. It hurt a lot, and he was grateful for the pain. At least he knew it was still where it was supposed to be.