She deflated. "You're impossible."

"Say yes, Fiera."

"Fine," she gave up. "Do your Batman thing."

She started washing fruit. I plucked the knife from her hand and nudged her toward the couch. "You're not slicing anything with a concussion."

"I'm not sick-"

"You're injured. Humor me."

She rolled her eyes but went. I made a quick fruit salad, called down the hall to see if Maya wanted some. Her muffled "later" drifted back-she was buried in work.

While Camila ducked into Maya's room ...