Darcy sat stiffly in the chair beside the hospital bed, his elbows resting on his knees and fingers knotted together. On the bed, Micah lay motionless, his face almost peaceful, though faint dark circles betrayed his lack of sleep. The faint rise and fall of his chest was the only proof that he was merely asleep.
Darcy turned his head toward Clyde, who was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, his posture straight and expression unreadable.
Darcy hesitated, then finally spoke, his voice low. "What about you? When did you remember?"
Clyde's eyes flickered toward him, then away. "It was right after Micah left for the south," he said, his tone even. "When they decided to tell you the truth."
Darcy's brows furrowed. "So… it wasn't that long ago, huh?"
"No."
Darcy went quiet for a moment, his gaze falling back on Micah. "Do you think…" he started, his voice catching slightly. "Do you think Micah also remembers? Is that why he came to find me earlier?"
