Serena left the window, walked to the far side of the bed, and sat in the chair. The chair. Elara's chair. The sacred, precisely measured, do-not-touch-the-patient chair that Elara had been haunting for days like a very committed ghost with boundary issues.
Elara had memorized the distance from the chair to the bed.
Serena was now inside the safe range.
"He really does look better," Serena said, leaning forward. Her elbows found her knees. Her chin found her hands. Her face was eighteen inches from Gavriel's blanket-wrapped body, and the eighteen inches were shrinking because Serena was studying his face.
Elara watched the distance close. Sixteen inches. Fourteen.
"Serena, the chair is closer than I usually sit."
"Is it?"
"Move it back about a foot. For the protocol."
Serena scooted the chair back without questioning it, because the protocol was Alaric's.
