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- 42 -
Ellya didn’t talk to Rodin throughout her examination of his arm, besides a few terse questions. Then she used a surgical saw to cut into the cast before deftly snapping it away from his arm, revealing his flesh once more. Even Rodin could tell it was less bulky than its counterpart, and he made a mental note to remedy that in his morning work-outs.
He twisted it, felt only the residue of soreness.
Ellya took his hand—not grabbed, but held it as if it was her right—and examined the arm, turning it this way and that. Occasionally, she glanced at his face, most likely to judge the existence of any pain. Finally, with a sharp nod, she released his limb.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Just the paperwork to complete. Come.”
She turned, and he followed her from the medi-bay. She did
