A profound quiet had settled over the hospital room, broken only by the rhythmic beep of the monitor. Linsy lay still, her breathing evening out, but the tension hadn’t left her body. Her brow was faintly furrowed, a tiny crease of lingering distress between her eyes.

“I’m not asking for anything,” Mansa’s voice was a soft murmur in the dim light, more to himself than to her. He had been watching her for a long time, a silent sentinel in the visitor’s chair. “And I’m not sad. ...