He fell asleep to the sound of his own fragile, human breathing.
Andrew tried to sit up. A lance of pain shot through his lower back—his kidneys, sending him a stern memo. He fell back against the pillow, the thin mattress sighing under his 220-pound frame.
“You need rest,” she said, her accent sharp. “And fluids. No coffee. No… ‘intense mental warfare’ for 48 hours.”
The nurse left. Tristan fell asleep in the chair, snoring softly.