Aaron was already sitting upright on the bed, fully dressed in a fresh black shirt and slacks, the IV line had been removed from him and the dressing around his ribs freshly changed. His face was still pale, but his eyes were clear, maybe even a little too clear for someone who had been stabbed just two nights before.

Margaret stood near the door, arms folded. “You shouldn’t be walking around like this. You're not some damn superhero.”

“I’m not staying here,” Aaron said firmly, the edge of command back in his voice.

She sighed. “Fine. But don’t expect me to carry you when you collapse. I’ll go sign the...