PREVIEW
... fading down the sterile corridor as she went to hunt down something remotely edible. Hospital cuisine ranked somewhere between boiled shoe leather and wet cardboard on the culinary spectrum, and I’d genuinely rather gnaw on my regenerator brace than suffer through another bowl of whatever grey, gelatinous substance passed for soup in this place.
Finally alone.
I slumped back against the pillows, letting out a long, shuddering breath that sent fire racing through my cracked ribs. ...
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