Mira woke before the alarm. The flat was quiet in a way she could use: fridge hum, a car in the distance, the neighbor's kettle clicking on, and the soft blink from the monitor table. She lay still and checked herself step by step. Head heavy but clear enough. Chest weight the same as yesterday. Arms and face warm again, the same heat that had started since the treatments, but not burning. She sat up slowly, took the cane, and let her feet find the floor.
She walked the short line to the bathroom with her palm on the wall, counted the steps, turned on the tap, and cooled her face. The mirror gave her the same pale shape as always. She touched the frame once and went back.
Her phone buzzed with a short message from Selina: We're here. Door in 30 seconds.
Three gentle knocks. Selina came in and waited at the bedroom door until Mira answered. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"
"Better than the ward. Worse than I wanted."
"Any pain?"
"No pain. The same heat."
"We'll note it," Selina said. "Tea first or breakfast first?"
"Tea."
Kael stepped in behind her with two bags. "Morning," he said. He went straight to the kitchen, opened the window two fingers wide, checked the back door, and said what he was doing as he did it. He moved like routine was a tool.
Selina brought Mira to the chair by the window the way they had practiced: "Step, turn, chair." The cushion held her shape from yesterday. The mug landed on the table where Mira's hand expected it.
Kael turned the television to a low volume. "News is on low. Sound okay?"
"Yes."
The presenter's voice was calm. "Police continue to seek witnesses in the death of Doctor Ian Merrow. Investigators are reviewing gaps in time stamps on one camera. It's unknown if this was a technical fault or tampering."
"Volume okay?" Selina asked.
"Keep it," Mira said.
"Power companies report brief flickers in two districts," the presenter went on. "Engineers blame weather. Astronomers say the meteor fragment may be visible near dusk if the cloud cover clears. There is no risk to the public."
"Time?" Mira asked.
"Dusk window," Kael said. "Nineteen-hundred to twenty-hundred, if the cloud behaves."
"Tell me when it happens," she said.
"I will."
Tea was right. They moved into the first block: stretches sitting, then standing, then sitting again. Short walk to the kitchen. Fingers on labels. Jug left of sink, bread box under the shelf with the tactile dot, tea tin beside it. Yesterday, Kael had put large, clean stickers on the key places. Mira made herself touch each one and say it out loud.
"Toast?" Selina asked.
"One slice."
"Fruit?"
"Half an apple."
Kael cut the apple and said "left half" as he placed it. Mira could smell it before she found it. They ate without talk for a minute, then cleared the plates. The quiet worked.
Selina took out a thin folder. "Week plan. We change anything you want. This is a draft. Daily: morning block like this. Evening: tablet, patch, and the clinic tonic at eight—half dose—with Patel on the phone. If you feel the band in your chest tighten, sit, breathe, tell me. No waiting. Three short walks, no more than fifteen minutes each, with rests. One errand later in the week if you feel stable—post office or pharmacy—with Kael present and me at the flat."
"Fine," Mira said.
"Two calls today," Selina went on. "Pharmacy for large-print labels and voice instructions. Monitoring service to lock access to named people only."
"Good," Mira said. "Add Ms. Troy as read-only. Remove the 'clinic admin' group. Names only."
Selina wrote it down. "Done."
A phone buzzed. Kael checked it. "Front step repair scheduled for Thursday morning. Nora spoke to the council."
Mira smiled. "She thinks about everything within five houses."
"She does," Selina said.
Kael washed the two mugs, checked the green blink on the monitor, and said, "I'll walk the block. Back in seven."
"Okay," Mira said.
He left. Selina took the chair opposite and let the news run. A transport update passed. A community story. Then the presenter returned to the Merrow case. "A source close to the investigation says several patient accounts linked to the victim were flagged for unusual withdrawals last month. No clinics were named."
"Unusual withdrawals," Mira said.
"We'll get your statements in large print," Selina said.
"I want the past three years."
"We'll request three."
The front door opened. "It's me," Nora called. "Hands full."
She went straight to the kitchen, bags down, fridge open. "Milk. Bread. Soup from my sister. Crackers. Fruit. If you don't like it, toss it. I won't know."
"Thank you," Mira said.
Nora washed her hands. "First night okay?"
"Fine," Mira said.
"Any trouble?"
"No."
"Good." She lowered her voice a little. "Don't answer unknown numbers. Let Selina or me take them. If someone says they're from the clinic, say, 'My carers handle calls. Use the official number,' and hang up."
"Okay," Mira said.
"Step is booked for Thursday morning," Nora added. "I'll be here. If the workers show up early, I'll keep them on the pavement until you say yes."
"Thank you."
Kael came back. "Street quiet. Two vans parked at the far end since last night. Same plates. Not the service company."
"Builders who never build," Nora said. "Leaving vans like lawn ornaments."
Kael said nothing. He put a bottle of water on the side table. "Sip during calls."
At ten, Selina called the pharmacy on speaker long enough to confirm identity. "This is Selina Vale for Miss Mira Halden. Please switch all labels to large print and add voice instructions on capsule packs. Add a profile flag: read instructions aloud on first delivery. Also print a 24-point schedule."
"Done," the pharmacist said.
Mira leaned toward the phone. "Read the last three delivery dates, please."
The dates matched the calendar on the fridge. "Thank you," she said.
At ten-thirty, Selina called the monitoring service. "I need the full access roster read aloud. Then remove 'clinic admin' and add named people only. Add Ms. Troy read-only."
"'Clinic admin' is required," the agent said.
"Send me that policy," Selina said. "For now, disable the group."
There was hold music, then a supervisor. "We can disable the group and keep Dr. Harland. Ms. Troy added read-only. Emailing the change log now."
Kael read the key lines out loud when the email arrived. Mira nodded. "Please note on my profile," she told the supervisor, "no direct calls to me. Calls go through my carers."
"Noted," the supervisor said.
They ended the call. The day felt better by one notch.
They took the first walk inside the flat: hallway to door, door to hallway, back to kitchen. Slow, stop, stand, continue. The heat rose and fell like it had its own timer. Mira said when it rose. Selina wrote it down. They shortened the second leg and rested.
Nora came back with two sandwiches in paper. "Half now, half later. Ham and mustard. Egg and cress."
"Egg," Mira said. The taste helped.
The noon voice on the television had a different tone. "Police would like to speak with anyone who saw two individuals leaving Barrow Lane between eleven and midnight the night of Doctor Merrow's death. They do not believe this was random."
"Volume down," Selina said. She lowered it one step.
Mira finished half the sandwich, drank water, and kept her face steady. There was nothing she could use in that story yet.
After a short rest, they reviewed the afternoon block. "Rest, stretch, label review, bank statements," Selina said. "We request by phone and email. No in-branch visit today."
"Fine," Mira said.
Selina called the bank with the phone on speaker only for the identity check, then off speaker for details. "Three years of statements, both paper in large font and digital with screen reader access." She repeated it back. The agent read a confirmation number. After the call, Selina summarized in one line. "Five to seven days."
"At one," Kael said, "I'll walk the block. Back in seven."
"Okay," Mira said.
He left. Nora washed two mugs, set them on the rack, and asked, "Want me to sit while they're out?"
"Yes," Mira said.
They listened to the street: a van door, a laugh, a small dog making a big noise. Nora told a short story about her cat and a bag of flour. Mira smiled. Kael came back in six minutes. "Quiet," he said. "Two vans still there."
At two, the light changed without the air warming. The lamp blinked once and stayed on. The TV picture fuzzed and recovered. "Power companies report flickers," the presenter said. "Engineers are monitoring. No risk to the grid."
"We'll keep the lamp on a separate strip," Selina said. "If it cuts for a second, don't move until it's back."
"I won't," Mira said.
Nora went to fetch a small torch. When she returned, she set it on the table. "Tap once to turn on. It remembers the last setting."
Mira tested it once and put it back.
Late afternoon was quiet. They checked the folder spine without opening it. "Evening plan," Selina read again. "Tonic at eight. Half dose. Patel on the phone. Stop if you want to stop. It's your call."
"Half only," Mira said.
"Half only," Selina repeated.
At seven-thirty, Patel called. "I'm here until nine. If anything feels wrong, say stop out loud. Don't wait."
"I will," Mira said.
At eight, Selina measured the half dose. Kael watched the monitor. The green blink held steady. Mira took the half dose in three sips. Sweet metal taste. Heat followed it: face first, then arms, then a soft weight at the back of the neck. The lamp did not flicker. The blink stayed regular. The air felt fuller for a minute and then normal.
"How is it?" Patel asked.
"Hot. Not worse."
"Pulse steady," Kael said.
"Stop if you want," Selina said.
"Not yet," Mira said. "I'm okay."
They waited ten minutes. The heat did not climb. Mira took cool water. They waited another ten. "Call if anything changes," Patel said. "I'm here."
"Thank you," Mira said. The call ended.
There was a short, polite knock at the front door. Not loud. A rhythm like someone thinking with their fingers. Selina looked toward the hall. "Stay," she said softly. "I'll answer."
Mira listened from the sitting room. The hallway flattened sound but did not hide it. Selina opened the door a careful hand's width. "Yes?"
"Miss Vale," Harland said, pleasant. "A brief check-in. I wanted to ensure the transition was smooth."
"It is," Selina said. "We're settling."
"I'll only be a moment," he added. "I have some paperwork Ms. Troy asked me to—"
"You can pass it through," Selina said. "Mira's resting. This is not a good time for visitors."
There was a small pause. "Of course. I wouldn't intrude." Paper rustled. "Please give her my regards."
"Thank you. Good night, Doctor."
The door closed. Selina came back with a slim folder. "Paperwork from the clinic," she said. "We'll look at it together tomorrow."
"He didn't ask to speak to me?" Mira said.
"He implied," Selina said. "I declined." She set the folder on the desk and left it there. "You can decide when to open it."
"Good," Mira said. "I'm tired of people opening my life for me."
The monitor gave a short status buzz. Kael stood in the doorway. "Report went through. Clinic received it. No one else did."
"Thank you," Selina said.
Kael's steps were steady. In the warm light, Mira could make out more now: dark hair, neat; a still face; a direct presence. A plain black coat, no logo. He took up space without pushing.
"Hungry?" Selina asked him.
"No," he said. To Mira: "I'll walk the block again. Short loop."
"Careful," Mira said.
"Always." He left.
"He keeps watch," Selina said. "It calms his mind."
"What does he look for?" Mira asked.
"Trouble. And signs there won't be any."
They finished the evening routine: a small snack, water, one slow walk around the room. Mira's legs shook near the end, but she held the pace. The floor had a few uneven spots that belonged to the house. She liked that she could learn them.
"Mirror?" Mira said. "I haven't really tried."
"We can," Selina said. She didn't add advice. In the bathroom, the light was kinder. Mira stepped close until her breath warmed the glass. The shape in the mirror stayed blurred. Tiny details stopped hiding: a faint notch in her left eyebrow, the soft line of her mouth. She pressed a fingertip to the notch and saw the reflection do the same.
"I'm trying to see me," she said.
"You are," Selina said. "Even when the mirror can't give you all of it."
"Tell me plainly," Mira said.
"You're very beautiful," Selina said, steady. "Large eyes. High cheekbones. Pale skin with color in your lips and cheeks. People react because they don't expect someone this ill to look like this. That's not your fault."
Mira let the words sit. Embarrassment first, then anger at how people act, then relief. "So it's not in my head."
"No," Selina said. "It's in theirs."
"Thank you," Mira said. "Not the magnifier tonight. I just wanted to face it."
"You did," Selina said. "That's enough."
Back in the bedroom, the bed was made with the left corner turned down and the soft ribbon on the frame where Selina had tied it. The lamp was low. The room smelled clean.
"Night alerts," Selina said. "If you feel pressure or lightheaded, call me. If I don't answer because I'm in the bathroom—unlikely—press the bedside call button. That alerts the monitor and me. If nothing changes in a minute, we call for help. No waiting."
"No waiting," Mira said.
Selina showed her water, phone, bell. Everything had a place.
"Do you want me in the next room?" Selina asked. "Door open. I'll sleep lightly."
"Yes," Mira said. "Please."
"Done," Selina said.
Voices drifted from the television in the sitting room—a short bulletin. They didn't move closer. "Police are investigating several deaths in the central district," the reader said. "Victims had connections to a private hospital network. Names are not released. Authorities say there is no evidence of ongoing risk to patients."
"Turn it off?" Selina asked.
"Please," Mira said.
Selina switched it off and came back with a small cup that smelled like flowers. "This is a mild herbal drink my mother taught me. It helps some people sleep. It is not your clinic tonic. Sip only. If you don't like it, leave it."
Mira tried a sip. Warmth spread across her chest. "Good strange," she said.
"Only a few sips," Selina said. "Too much can feel strong."
"We don't guess in the dark," Selina added when Mira started a half-formed question. "We follow facts tomorrow."
"Okay," Mira said. "Good night."
"I'm in the next room," Selina said. "Call if you need me."
Mira reached out. Her fingers brushed Selina's wrist. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Selina said, and left the door open.
Mira lay still and listened. Footsteps outside came and went. A car door closed. A bicycle chain clicked. Far off, a fox barked. Closer, the air changed the way it does when Kael took up his place near the front. It felt steady, not tense.
She thought about the mirror. About Selina's plain words. About Harland at the door with "paperwork" that could have waited. She filed those things and closed the drawer for the night.
"New note," she whispered to the phone. "First day at home. Routines help. Monitor access fixed. Harland tried to come in. We didn't let him. News: Merrow case, central deaths, power flickers. We ask questions tomorrow."
She saved it, put the phone where her hand could find it, and closed her eyes. Sleep came in pieces. In one thin layer, she stood beside water and heard a voice say a name close to her ear. She woke with the word on her tongue and didn't speak it. Keeping it felt safer than losing it again.
Just before dawn, there was a soft knock. Mira opened her eyes and listened. Selina's voice in the hall. "What is it?"
"A car circled twice," Kael said quietly. "Stopped at the end of the street. Drove on. Likely nothing. I don't like patterns."
"Me neither," Selina said. "We'll log it."
"Sleep," Kael said. "I'll take the early watch."
"Switch at seven," Selina said. "Don't be a statue."
A small pause. "Trying," Kael said.
Their steps faded. The house settled again. Mira wasn't afraid. Alert, yes. Not alone.
She slept a little more and woke to pale light and the kettle asking for work. She sat up. Her body argued and then agreed. The stone stayed where it always was, but it didn't push.
Selina knocked on the wood of the doorframe. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"
"Well enough. Did the car come back?"
"No," Selina said. "We'll keep an eye."
"Thank you."
Selina handed her a warm mug. "Tea. Then breakfast. Then we open Harland's folder and write our questions. We'll call Ms. Troy. We'll ask for names, not titles."
"Good," Mira said.
Down the hall, the front door clicked. Kael's voice floated back, even. "I'm on the corner. Shout if you need me."
Mira didn't ask how he expected her to shout. Window, phone, his name—she had options.
She took a sip of tea. It was right. The day felt possible. "Let's make a list."
Selina sat on the edge of the bed with a notebook and a quiet pen. "You start."
"Names on monitor access. Schedule details. Who approves changes. Ms. Troy's full role. Why donors chose me. Who decided the home alerter. Which driver comes late at night. Who authorized caretaker placement."
"Good," Selina said, writing. "We'll ask directly. We'll keep asking until the answers match."
"Next," Mira said, "school. Not to change anything today. I want it on the horizon. I don't want all my days to be medicine and questions."
"Understood," Selina said. "We'll plan it quietly. You'll have cover and choices."
Mira relaxed into the pillow. "Thank you."
The street started up: bins rolled, children argued about coats, a dog decided leaves mattered. Somewhere on the corner, Kael stood very still and let the morning move around him. Inside, Selina's pen made a neat list without fuss.
Mira set her hand on her chest. The stone was there. It would be there for a while. It felt less like a weight and more like a reminder: breathe, ask, choose.
She finished her tea. "Let's open the folder," she said.
Selina nodded. For the first time since waking in this life, the day felt like something Mira could shape.