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AN UNFAMILIAR CEILING appeared in Cherry’s vision. She moved to sit up, but a thousand hammers pounded in her head. She gave up and lay down.
“Ah, you’re awake at last,” said a voice.
She turned and squinted in the speaker’s direction.
Clarkson. Doctor Clarkson.
She was in sick bay.
“Try not to move around too much,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on it.”
He approached, smiling. “Glad to see you still have a sense of humor. That’s a good sign.”
If she could have shrunk away from him, she would have. The man’s presence evoked feelings of disgust. It wasn’t that he’d been having an affair—she was in no position to criticize in that regard—but the way he’d turned the spotlight onto Wilder to save himself made her sick.
“You have a severe concussion,” he went o
