3
Getting shot in the chest was not fun. Even when the bullet missed your heart and only pierced one of your lungs, even when Leyrian medical science was able to repair the damage at a faster rate than what he would have expected, getting shot still made life so very, very difficult.
Wrapped in a fuzzy, blue bathrobe, Harry rolled through the front hall of his house in a wheelchair. His jaw was set, his eyes determined. Today, he was going to get some cleaning done, and nothing could stop him.
The chair took him into the kitchen where sunlight through the window above the sink fell upon white cupboards that still glistened from the last traces of cleanser that had been applied mere moments ago.
The serving bot that his daughters had named Michael stood with its back turned, spritzing t
