Lyre's pulled her phone out and frowned at it at least fifteen times in the past few minutes, driving me mildly batty.
My nurse fiddles with a new bag of IV fluids, having saved us from the incessant squawking of whatever machine they have attached to a pole. A few buttons beep, and clear fluid drips in steady rhythm once again.
I crane my neck around the nurse's blue scrubs, trying to catch Lyre's eye. What's with all the phone checking? But she doesn't notice my curiosity, her eyes fixed on whatever message is on her screen.
The nurse taps the IV bag once more. "All set, honey. Your fluids are running nice and steady now."
"Thanks," I mumble, distracted by my friend's increasingly pinched expression.
"Just hit that call button if you need anything. Anything at all," the nurse chirps.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Lyre finally looks up from her phone.
"What are the chances your boyfriend's gotten himself kidnapped by the local pack?"
