Chapter 6
Elenda tried her hardest to heed her father's advice to take it easy, relax, let her injuries sort themselves out. She knew she should listen to her doctors and to her slowly healing body. Another encounter with the elevator wiped out all of her best intentions barely a week later.
She'd tried riding with her eyes closed to avoid that mirror, window, whatever the hell it was. The low level nausea she always got with pain medication made that impossible, so Elenda stared at the wall, reading the less than reassuring safety instructions over and over.
Then the compulsion to look—to know—got the best of her.
The first reflection, on Monday, showed her with swollen and puffy eyes, wearing what was obviously a black dress of mourning. No sign of crutches, but all the signs of a de
