Aurora was sitting up in bed when I entered, her blonde hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the window. She looked fragile, smaller somehow, like a bird with clipped wings. The monitors beside her bed beeped steadily, tracking vital signs.

"How are you doing?" I asked, settling into the chair beside her bed.

"I'm fine," she replied, but her voice told a different story. Her eyes moved around the room as if she were seeing it for the first time, taking in details.

"Do you ...