Kiva spent the rest of Saturday and the entirety of Sunday in bed, following orders from Mot, Tipp, Jaren, and Naari. By the time Monday rolled around, she was going stir crazy. Her desperation to continue researching the stomach sickness—the illness her father died from—had her up at the crack of dawn, waiting anxiously for her escort’s arrival.

Naari took her sweet time, and when she finally appeared at the entrance to the infirmary, Kiva shot out the door.

“Come on, come on, we have so much to do,” she said as she began walking briskly toward the front gates.

Naari chuckled. “Someone’s been cooped up for too long.”

“It was unnecessary,” Kiva said, sidestepping to avoid a puddle on the gravel. “I was perfectly fine yesterday.”

The guard’s reply was dry. “Yes, you were the picture of health when you got out of bed and fell flat on your face.”

“I was fine after that.”

“Admit it, you just wanted Jaren’s arms around you again.”

Kiva’s head whipped around so fast that she stumbled on the path. Sending a glare to the grinning Naari, she said, “That’s not what happened.”

“I was there,” the guard said, her grin widening. “He was very quick to catch you—and very slow to release you.”

Kiva grated her teeth together. “I think we should go back to walking in silence.”

Naari laughed, genuine amusement flooding her features. “Too late, healer. You’re not afraid of me anymore. That ship has sailed.”

“I was never afraid of you,” Kiva lied.

Naari snorted her disbelief.

“You’re a guard,” Kiva conceded, throwing her hands out to the sides. “You’re meant to incite some level of intimidation. That’s the whole point of your job.”

“Guess I just wasn’t born to work in a place like Zalindov,” Naari mused.

The words prompted an icy feeling to spread throughout Kiva. Naari had already been at the prison much longer than most of the other female guards over the years. And while Kiva had acknowledged that her limb difference would make it harder for her to get a protective role elsewhere, that didn’t mean it was impossible. But the idea of her leaving . . .

“At least you wouldn’t have to worry about catching your death somewhere else,” Kiva made herself say, ignoring the dread filling her. “I’m surprised you didn’t ride the first wagon out of here once we realized the sickness was spreading.”

Naari made a pensive sound, but then said, “I’ve never been one to leave when things get tough.” She lifted her prosthetic hand and wiggled her fingers at Kiva. “What kind of person would that make me?”