I was honestly ready to crawl out of my skin, and despite Cair’s extremely thorough sponge baths, I needed to feel hot water scalding away the lingering stench of death. Now that I’d regained control of my physical and mental self, I’d realized dying hadn’t made me fear it happening again. Not really. It may have been an “unexpected” trauma response, especially for someone who supplied the anxiety at every event, but the incident had given me a better outlook on life, a newfound appreciation and desire to get up and actually live. The first couple of days, yes, I’d admit, I’d needed to self-regulate, to work on the nightmares creeping in whenever I closed my eyes and rebuild the strength that I’d lost, but now… enough was enough. I needed stimulation.

I needed to not be so fucking cramped.

Or alone.

A playful knock sounded at the door, jolting me from my thoughts. My brow furrowed when neither Cair nor Zadok entered. I slotted my bookmark in between the pages I’d been reading—a dull section on the don’ts of pyromancy—before setting the tome on the side table. On top of the other two books I’d already read today.

“Come in,” I called as I sat up straighter.

Surprisingly, Gary’s cheery face peeked around the door. He was the last creature I’d expected. Except maybe Cee. “Hey, boss,” he said, bounding in with a tray balanced precariously in his hands. “I brought you some, er… Actually, I haven’t a clue what it is. Your da’s not much of a chef, but he tried his best.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll taste fine.”

He trotted over, placing the tray in my lap before proceeding to plonk himself down at the far end of the bed, propriety non-existent. I was stunned for all of two seconds. It was Gary; he did what he wanted. I wasn’t mad about it.

“So…” he said after a moment. “You died, huh? What was that like?”

I damn near choked on my first mouthful of possibly-stew.

And it in fact did not taste fine. It was inedible, but that was beside the point. “You don’t waste any time with small talk, do you?”

He shrugged. “Small talk’s boring. Why ask you how you are or if you’re enjoying the weather when I know the answer’ll be ‘Well, I died, so uh, how the fuck do you think I am?’ or ‘I haven’t left this room in a week and don’t know if it’s raining or shining, so take a wild guess.’ Might as well skip to the fun stuff.”