It had been a few hours since Noah had woken.
He sat upright in his infirmary bed, a tray of food balanced across his lap.
The soup was bland, and the bread too dry, but he ate, tearing each bite as if it didn't matter whether he tasted it or not. His eyes were blank, his motions mechanical.
Right now, all he was thinking about was what had happened when he'd first woken up. Who had given him the glass of water? Was it his shadows? But they couldn't interact with the real world. Had it been someone else?
Something told him that he already knew the answer to the question, but it kept nagging him. Especially with his mental state.
Sometimes, he was clearheaded. Other times, he had the nastiest headache one could ask for, which always disappeared without a trace, some within seconds, and others stayed for minutes.
