On the morning of the second day, Tobias Scrimshaw rolled over onto his side, blinked open his eyes and licked his dry lips. “I need a drink,” he groaned. He swung his legs from under the bedclothes and sat up. Screwing up his face, he looked down at the bandages wrapped around his ribcage, then gingerly touched his nose with his fingers. It felt strange and misshapen under his touch.
“s**t, I feel like I"ve been hit by a freight train.” He went to stand up, and hissed as a stab of pain forced him back down again.
“You shouldn"t be moving around too much,” said the big, burly man coming through the main door at a rush. His short sleeves were rolled up past his impressive biceps, and his hands dripped water, as if he had only just finished washing. He put one pan-sized palm against Tobias
