The infirmary smelled like antiseptic and old bandages.

I sat on the examination table while the healer wrapped my ribs. Nothing serious—just bruising, she said. I'd taken worse.

She pressed two fingers against the sore spot beneath my left side, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” she said, though her hands didn't stop moving. “I need to make sure nothing is cracked.”

“I already told you it's fine.”

“And I already told you to stop talking while I examine you.”

I ...