Luca's POV

“How's he?”

Martha flinched. She hadn't heard me come.

“He's… healing.”

She removed the wet towel from his face. It smelled of dampness and fever.

“Rose?”

Her orderly, Rose, who had been standing by the corner, offered her a new one.

She delicately placed the clean, wet towel on my father's forehead.

Rose packed up the first aid box and slithered out of the room. Martha's frame swayed after her towards the door. Her hand lingered on the doorstead.

“He ...