“I’m taking her to a hospital.” I hear Dmitri’s voice.
Another person in the room sighs. “Dmitri, Zara is the best we have. And she’s probably the best in all of Lost Angels.”
“It’s been three days.” He argues.
“Trust her diagnosis; have a little faith. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”
A hint of hopelessness seeps into his voice, and I can tell from his tone that he’s worried and on edge. “She told me she’d wake up today.”
“And there’s still a lot of hours until today ends.” There’s a short pause, before the reassuring, almost playful voice returns. “It’s only eleven in the morning.”
“Puoi andare, Luca.”
Soft footsteps, and then the door closes with a faint click.
I feel large hands gently smooth down my hair; long fingers tickling my scalp. Slowly, I open my eyes, blinking, a
