Sairis's POV
Sairis sat in the tilted cabin and listened to the silence.
One of the men appeared at the door and looked in at him. He reached forward and pressed two fingers to the side of Sairis's neck.
He held them there for a moment.
Then he looked at the driver. "His pulse is low," he said. His voice had changed from the voice he used with Greta present. Quieter. More honest. "Significantly low."
"How low?" the driver asked.
"Low enough that I do not like it," the man said. He looked at Sairis's face and then down at his stomach and then back at the driver. "He needs a physician. Properly. Not bread and thin soup in a cold room. A physician."
The driver climbed down from the box and came to stand beside the door. He looked in at Sairis and his face did something that was not comfortable to see on a man who had spent six weeks working for Greta without visible discomfort.
"How long has he been like this?" the driver asked.
