Elin's POV

The hospital corridor smells like antiseptic and cautious hope.

I push through the double doors, the thermos of soup still warm in my hands. Yanis is propped up in bed, his color better than yesterday. When he sees me, he manages a tired smile.

"You're spoiling me with all this soup."

"Someone has to." I set the thermos down on the bedside table. "Fiona made chicken broth today. She says you need to build your strength."

He laughs, then winces. "Still hurts to laugh."

"Then ...