Mira woke before the first rounds. The ward was quiet. Machines hummed and clicked. She felt the weight under her ribs and laid a hand there, counting her breaths until the tightness eased enough to sit up.
"Water?" Nurse Patel's voice came in a soft knock on the curtain. "I can change your dressing after."
"Yes. Please."
Patel set the cup in Mira's hand and waited until she felt the rim. "Slow sips. Any dizziness?"
"A little."
"We'll take it easy." Patel checked the line at Mira's hand. "You're steadier than last night. The doctor put in a discharge request, but it won't be today."
"Tomorrow?" Mira asked.
"If all goes well," Patel said. She lowered her voice. "And if you can say no when you need to."
"To who?"
"You'll know it when you see it." Patel's tone said she couldn't say more. "Breakfast in ten. Toast, porridge, or both?"
"Toast."
Patel started to leave, then paused. "There will be visitors. Official ones."
"The caretaker team?"
Patel didn't answer directly. "I'll be close."
Footsteps passed outside the curtain. A man's voice Mira didn't know said, "Is that the special case?" and another answered, "Keep your voice down." The voices moved away.
Mira finished the water. She ran her fingers over the taped line in the back of her hand and thought about the word special. It sounded like a label that made it easy to put someone on a shelf.
The curtain slid back. Dr. Harland stepped in with a folder and a smile. "Good morning. Any pain?"
"Tightness." Mira kept her voice even. "Less than last night."
"Good." He sat. "We'll keep the adjustment for another day. Your numbers look acceptable. We're coordinating home support so you won't be left to struggle."
"You mean the caretakers," Mira said.
"Yes." He signaled agreement with his pen as though ticking a box. "They'll help with medication times, meals, movement, ordinary tasks. You'll focus on rest."
"Who asked for them?" Mira asked. "Me? You? The… foundation?"
"The request is appropriate at this stage," Harland said. "You fainted a few streets from your house. That suggests a need."
"It suggests I tried to walk to the corner," Mira said. "I'm not arguing about help. I want to understand who decided."
"The care team decided," he said, and he didn't say more. "Do you have any questions about discharge?"
"Yes. I want my records."
"We're assembling them," he said. "You'll get summaries."
"I want full copies. Everything with my name on it."
"We'll see what can be released."
Mira let the silence sit for a moment. "You told me yesterday I had donors. Foundations. Do any of them have access to my house?"
"That's not how I'd put it," Harland said. "Equipment providers have maintenance access. You authorized that."
"When?"
"In prior visits. Don't worry about the dates."
"I do worry about dates," she said. "Please put the release forms on my tray. I'll sign when I can see where."
He stood. "I'll have Admin bring them." He let the pause be a warning. "Mira, it's important you accept support. It's not a punishment to accept help."
"I know what help is," she said. "I also know what control feels like."
Harland didn't answer that. "Breakfast is on the way. Your visitors will be here by midday. If you feel tired, tell them. They'll adjust."
He left. The curtain fell back into place. Mira breathed out slowly and closed her eyes. She counted to sixty so the anger would pass before anyone else saw it on her face.
Nora arrived with the toast and a scandalized whisper. "He smiles too much. When people smile that much at me at the council counter, it means I should read the small print twice."
"You brought my toast," Mira said, smiling for real now. "Thank you."
"I bribed the lady on the trolley with a fresh tea bag." Nora settled the tray and sat on the chair. "How are you, sweetheart?"
"Better than last night," Mira said. "Worse than I want."
Nora leaned in. "About yesterday in the street. My neighbor swears your hair looked strange for a second when the ambulance lights hit you. Not just shiny. White. Like light was coming off it. She scared herself. Then she said it was shock and the drizzle and she took it back."
Mira swallowed the toast slowly. "I didn't see anything."
"Of course you didn't," Nora said. "You fell down in the rain. That's enough drama for one day. I'm just telling you what people talk about when they can't mind their business."
"Somebody always needs a story," Mira said.
"Yes, and sometimes the story is wrong." Nora lowered her voice. "Are you sure about these caretakers? I know you don't know me well, but I can pop round and see how they are. If they worry me, I'll say so."
"I would like that," Mira said. "If you don't mind."
"Mind? I live for this." Nora reached to pour more water. "You tell me if you feel pressured. I can be very reasonable until it's time not to be."
Mira laughed. "I believe you."
A shadow crossed the curtain. A woman's voice — even, friendly — spoke with reception-level calm. "May we come in?"
Nora stood. "I'll be right outside," she said to Mira, and then to the unseen voice, "She's tired. Keep it short."
"We'll be mindful," the voice replied.
Mira straightened her gown and set her hands flat on the blanket. "Come in."
The woman entered first. Even to Mira's poor eyes, the red of her hair was a bright shape that didn't belong in this pale room. The woman stopped at a respectful distance. "Hello, Mira. I'm here to help you. May I sit?"
"Yes."
The chair legs touched the floor softly. The woman's tone stayed calm and practical. "We're assigned to you for as long as the doctor requires. We help with daily routines, safety checks, appointments. We're trained. We keep things simple. That's the whole point."
"You're very young," Mira said. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but her mouth did it anyway.
"I'm eighteen," the woman said. "I've worked the last two years in private homes with medical cases."
"And the other one?" Mira asked. She could feel him there, just outside the edge of the curtain, very quiet.
"He's with me," the woman said. "He's sixteen. He assists me."
"Will he come in?" Mira asked.
A step. A shift in the air. The boy moved inside and stopped near the foot of the bed. He didn't speak. He didn't fidget. His presence felt like a wall — not hostile, but solid. Mira turned her head toward him and felt the weight of his gaze. She tried to see more than a dark shape, but her vision didn't give it.
"What are your names?" Mira asked.
The woman answered first. "Selina. You can call me that. If you prefer 'Miss,' I won't argue." A small smile in her voice.
"And you?" Mira aimed her face toward the boy.
"Kael," he said. His voice was low and even. No wasted words.
"Thank you for coming," Mira said. "I'm tired, so forgive me if I'm slow to ask what I need to ask."
"We're not in a hurry," Selina said. "We came to learn your routine. We'll do it your way where we can. When it's not safe, we'll say so. That's our job."
"What does 'not safe' include?" Mira asked.
"Going out alone today," Selina said. "Long baths without someone near. Lifting anything heavy. Trying to move furniture. Ignoring the monitor's alerts. Things like that."
"I don't move furniture," Mira said. "I can barely move toast."
Selina's laugh was short. "Then we're aligned."
Kael stayed silent. Mira wasn't sure if he was looking at her face or at the machines. She tried to catch the sound of his clothes when he breathed. Nothing gave him away.
Nurse Patel stepped in. "Let me see badges," she said.
Selina handed over a wallet card. Patel read it. "And yours?" She looked at Kael.
Kael passed his card without comment. Patel checked both. "All right. Keep your visits short today. She needs rest. I'll be nearby."
"Thank you," Selina said.
Patel adjusted the line on Mira's hand and left.
Selina faced Mira again. "We'll come to your flat when you're discharged. We're there to help, not to take over. If you don't like how we do something, tell me and I will change it. If I can't change it, I'll explain why."
"Who do you report to?" Mira asked.
"Agency. The hospital. Your doctor," Selina said. "And you, if you have concerns."
"I do," Mira said. "I want to control my door. People should not enter my house without me saying so. If there's a maintenance schedule, I want it in writing."
"That's reasonable," Selina said. "We can post the schedule on your fridge and send it to your neighbor too, if you want extra eyes."
"Yes," Mira said. "Please do."
Kael spoke for the first time since his name. "Do you use the cane at home or only outside?"
"Only outside," Mira said. "At home I count steps. The furniture doesn't move."
"We'll keep it that way," Kael said.
Mira nodded. "Thank you."
Selina set a small soft case on the tray. "We brought a nutrition supplement approved by your doctor. It helps appetite and sleep. It's a syrup you can take in the evening. He wants you to start a low dose tonight."
Mira didn't touch it. "What's in it?"
"Herbal extract," Selina said. "Minerals. It's a common tonic for heart cases. We can read the label to you later."
"Leave it closed for now," Mira said. "I'll ask Nurse Patel to check the label and log it."
"Of course," Selina said, without a beat. "We'll wait."
The television outside the room grew louder. A newsreader said, "Another night of severe storms across the north. Sudden temperature jumps were recorded in three cities within the same hour. Power outages affected thousands. Authorities say they're investigating." A second anchor added, "Astronomers updated the trajectory of the meteor fragment. It will pass closer than first projected, still safe, but there may be visible phenomena in the night sky."
A cleaner pushing a trolley paused at the doorway and stared for a second. Mira felt the attention shift toward her bed. She didn't know what the woman saw. The trolley rattled on quickly.
Selina looked over her shoulder and then back at Mira. "Do you want the television volume down?"
"It's fine," Mira said. "Noise helps me map where I am."
Kael stepped half a pace closer. His movement was quiet, but it changed the air. Mira felt a small lift of static on her forearms. She rubbed at the feeling and said nothing.
Nora tapped the wall with her knuckles. "All right in there?"
"We're fine," Mira called.
Nora stepped in, chin up. "Hello. I'm next door. I look in on her. I'll be looking in on you as well. I hope that's comfortable for everyone."
Selina answered at once. "I'm glad. A neighbor is the best alarm. If you see something that worries you, call me directly." She held out a card. "Number's on the back."
Nora took it but didn't look down. "I prefer voices to cards. What should I call you?"
"Selina," she said. "And this is Kael."
Kael gave a brief nod. Nora blinked once as if something pinched the air, then recovered. "Fine. Ground rules then. You don't block her door. You don't park in the shared space. You don't tell her she's being silly when she's asking for plain facts. If I knock and nobody answers and I hear anything odd, I use the spare key and I shout very loudly."
"That suits me," Selina said. "If you knock and we don't answer within a minute, use the key and shout."
"Good," Nora said. She looked at Mira's face. "You all right?"
"Tired," Mira said. "But this is helpful."
"Then I've done my job." Nora looked at the soft case on the tray. "What's that?"
"A supplement," Selina said. "Doctor-approved."
"Don't take anything until Patel reads it," Nora said to Mira. "I know how labels hide things."
"I already said I'd wait," Mira said.
"Good girl." Nora placed a hand on Mira's shoulder, squeezed once, and left.
Selina let a few seconds pass. "You have good people near you."
"I don't know many people," Mira said. "The ones I do know, I want to keep."
"We'll try to be the kind you keep," Selina said.
The overhead light flickered. It was brief, but the room changed for that instant. The heart monitor stuttered and steadied. From the corridor a nurse said, "Did you see that?" and another answered, "Don't start," but her voice wasn't steady.
Mira felt heat rise on her face as if she had walked too close to a radiator. She wiped at her cheek. It wasn't sweat. It felt like the air itself pressed against her skin for a heartbeat, then moved away.
Patel came in fast, checked the monitor, and looked at everyone one by one. "What happened?"
"Light flicker," Selina said. "She didn't stand. She didn't move."
"I'm fine," Mira said. "Just a moment."
Patel watched her face. "You look flushed. I'll bring a cool cloth." She glanced at the soft case. "Is that a new medication?"
"Supplement," Mira said. "Please log it and read the label to me before I try it."
"I will," Patel said, and she took the case, checked the seal between her fingers, and put it in her apron pocket. "Visiting time's nearly over. Ten more minutes."
Selina nodded. "We'll be done before then."
After Patel left, Mira said, "Let me ask a few things while I still have energy."
"Go on," Selina said.
"Do you stay in my flat?"
"No," Selina said. "We rotate shifts. Day visits early on. We'll add evenings if they're needed. Nights only if your alerts demand it."
"Who has my keys?"
"You do," Selina said. "We'll have a set. Your neighbor has a set. The monitor company has sealed access in emergencies. That's the list."
"I want a list on paper," Mira said.
"I'll write it today," Selina said. "You'll sign it. We'll stick it on the fridge and we'll give a copy to Nora."
"Good," Mira said. "Do you make meals or do we cook together?"
"We can do both," Selina said. "It depends on your strength. I'll show you ingredients each time so you know what's going in. I label and date everything."
"That matters," Mira said. "I've had… times when I didn't know what I was taking." She left it there.
Kael spoke again, quiet. "Do you hear the monitor wake you at night?"
"Sometimes," Mira said. "Sometimes it blinks and I don't wake. The sound is soft."
"We'll increase the alert volume at home," Kael said. "We'll put a small chime by your bed that repeats until you touch it."
"Okay," Mira said. "Thank you."
A volunteer pushed the television trolley past. The newsreader was back on screen. "Authorities say last night's unusual cloud-to-ground lightning had high energy signatures. Power companies reported interference with station instruments. Meteor watchers say the fragment will pass within safe distance, but activity around the upper atmosphere could cause rare displays. We'll have more at six."
"People are nervous," Selina said. "Everyone's listening for bad news."
"I'm listening for what affects my front door," Mira said. "The sky can fall after I get my keys back."
Selina nodded once. "We will keep the door simple."
Harland arrived again without waiting for an answer to his knock. "How are we getting on?"
"Covering basics," Selina said. "She wants copies of access lists, labeling, schedules. We'll make them."
"Good," Harland said. He moved to the foot of the bed. "Mira, you look better."
"I feel the same," Mira said. "Maybe that's better than worse."
Harland smiled. "I'll sign off on short visits this week. We'll reassess after a few days. You'll start the tonic tonight. It will help sleep."
Patel stepped in at that exact moment. "Doctor, I've taken the supplement to log it. I'll read the label with the patient before administration."
"Very good," Harland said, and the softness in his voice was for the paperwork, not for Mira. "We're all aligned."
"I want the label read to me in full," Mira said. "No skipping the small print."
"Of course," Patel said. "We'll do it before evening meds."
Harland checked his watch. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mira. Rest."
He was gone before she answered.
Selina stood. "We'll leave you now. We'll come back in the evening only if you want us to sit while you try the syrup."
"I want Patel there," Mira said. "And Nora can be outside the curtain if she wants."
"That's fine," Selina said. "We'll take instruction from the nurse on dose."
Kael spoke to Patel in the doorway. "Can we put our number on the staff board?"
"Give it to me," Patel said. "I'll post it with the care notes."
Selina adjusted the chair back under the table. "Do you want the blinds half-closed?"
"No," Mira said. "I like knowing where the window is."
"All right." Selina hesitated, then added, "If anything feels wrong after we leave, call the nurse and then call me. I'd rather be bothered than late."
"I will," Mira said.
They stepped back. For a second, the overhead light ticked — not a full flicker, just a tick. Mira felt that same warm push across her skin and then it was gone. A visitor two beds down made a soft, shocked sound like she had seen something she didn't believe and then blamed it on the fluorescents.
Patel came with a cool cloth, set it on Mira's forehead, and spoke low. "You did well. You set the tone."
"They're very sure of themselves," Mira said.
"They are," Patel agreed. "So are you when you need to be."
"Will you read the label to me now?" Mira asked, nodding toward the soft case in Patel's pocket.
Patel pulled it out and broke the seal while Mira listened. "Tonic. Ingredients: glucose syrup, magnesium citrate, valerian extract, hawthorn extract, proprietary blend—never love those two words—vitamin B complex. Directions: five milliliters in the evening with water. Warnings: may cause drowsiness, dizziness, flushing."
"Flushing," Mira repeated. "That's what I felt."
Patel kept going. "Manufacturer address. Batch number. Storage instructions. I'll scan the QR code later and check if there are any alerts. We'll start with half the dose tonight. If you feel odd, I'm right here."
"Nora?" Mira asked.
"She's waiting outside, pretending to read a poster about hand washing," Patel said. "I'll bring her back in at seven."
Patel tucked the bottle into a locked drawer, logged it on the chart, and left.
Mira lay back. She listened to the ward map itself again — call bells, footsteps, the squeak of a wheel. She touched the cool cloth and felt the heat finally leave her cheeks. She thought about the young woman with the bright hair who spoke like everything could be made simple if only people followed the steps. She thought about the boy who stood quiet and unmoving and made the room feel smaller without saying a word.
At six, the news came on again. "We're tracking more sudden changes in temperature across four regions. Transport disruptions are likely if storms continue. Astronomers say the meteor fragment may create visible trails in the night sky over the next week. There is no danger to the public." The anchor's voice tightened on the last sentence like he knew people didn't believe him.
Mira turned her face toward the open part of the curtain, found the square of brighter air that meant window, and stayed still. She didn't think about meteors. She thought about keys and doors and whether the label on a bottle always told the truth.
When the evening rounds began, Patel returned with Nora. "Half dose," Patel said, "and we all watch."
Nora took Mira's hand. "If it makes you feel wrong, you say stop to me, not to be polite."
"I'll say stop," Mira said.
Patel measured two and a half milliliters. "With water. Sip."
Mira swallowed. It tasted sweet at first and then a little metallic. She waited, counting the breaths the way she had learned. At twenty, her shoulders loosened. At forty, heat moved along her throat and across her face. At fifty, her skin prickled as if she stood near a hot lamp.
"Flushing," she said. "I feel it. It's not painful. It's strong."
Patel watched the monitor. "Pulse steady. Color's high but not alarming."
Nora watched Mira's face, then looked up quickly at the light as if it had moved. She took a step closer. "Your skin looked very bright for a second. Not normal bright. Different. Now it's gone."
"I didn't feel that part," Mira said. "Only heat."
Kael's voice came from the doorway, quiet. "If the light flickers again, we can ask maintenance to check the ballast."
Nora turned. "Or we can ask why a light flickers only when she takes a sip of something new."
Patel lifted a hand. "Everyone calm. I'm here. The monitor is clean. We'll wait fifteen minutes and check again."
They waited. The feeling of heat faded. The light didn't flicker. Mira's pulse stayed even. The three women breathed out at almost the same time.
Patel nodded. "Half dose seems tolerable. We'll keep it at half for three nights. If anything odd happens, we stop."
"Thank you," Mira said.
Nora squeezed her hand again. "I'll be back in the morning. Ring if you need me in the night. I'll keep my shoes by the door."
"I will," Mira said.
Selina stepped in only long enough to say, "We'll come at eight tomorrow. We'll make breakfast and bring the written schedules. If you don't like anything, tell me and I'll change it."
"Bring black tea," Nora said. "The hospital tea is a crime."
Selina smiled with her mouth, not her eyes. "I'll bring proper tea."
Kael held the curtain as they left. He didn't speak. As the fabric fell back into place, the air felt normal again.
Patel set the call button where Mira's hand could find it without looking. "Press if you need me. I'm right there."
"Thank you," Mira said.
When the lights dimmed for the night setting, the ward fell into that soft hospital quiet where nobody really sleeps and everybody pretends. Mira lay on her side and kept her hand on the cool sheet until her breath matched the machine. She thought about what she had asked for — lists, keys, labels — and what she had not asked that still needed asking. She would get the records. She would look for the gaps. She would listen when people thought she wasn't listening.
Somewhere down the corridor a visitor said, "Did you feel that?" and someone else said, "It's just the air." The voices faded. The television was finally silent.
Mira slept, not deeply, but enough.