The ceiling didn't respond.
It just stared back, off-white and cracked, the paint chipping slightly near the light fixture like it had been there longer than anyone else. Merlin blinked once, then again, as his arm slid off his face.
His ribs hurt. Not broken. Just bruised in that way that made you rethink every single breath.
Nathan was still in the armchair. Still scrolling on that battered black tablet he swore wasn't outdated.
"You look like you lost a fight to a boulder," Nathan said, finally glancing up. "Did the mysterious bastard actually let you hit him this time?"
"No," Merlin grunted, dragging himself upright, "but I managed to stay standing for half a second longer than last time."
Nathan whistled low. "Progress."
