Claire opened her eyes to the waning light of the day. After the first dream of the accident, she’d been bothered by fragments of memories. The headache had subsided to a dull ache, and she groped for her glasses, relieved to find them nearby on a nightstand. They didn’t give much of a clue to her surroundings once she could see. She wasn’t in her room in the general’s house, but she wasn’t at Distillery Hospital, either.
She closed her eyes against a wave of disorientation. It reminded her of what happened when she had first come aware in Paris, but at least this time she wasn’t the star of the stage in a medical observation theatre. And her memories were no less intact than previously. She knew better than to chase the memory of what had put her in a sleep state. Whatever it was, it was
