A few days later, they were back in the room.
Tests. Needles. Blood.
Again and again.
Iyisha sat off to the side, watching as Susan stood with a sheet of results in her hand, her eyes scanning the numbers like she was trying to make sense of something impossible.
"Some of the damaged cells are healing," Susan said, her voice edged with disbelief. "This shouldn't be happening this fast."
Lance let out a breath from the bed.
"Ah," he said, dragging a hand over his face. "You've been poking me left and right all week. I'm tired of this."
He pushed himself up.
"Wait—" Mark started.
Lance swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
He swayed.
Malcolm was already there, his hand gripping Lance's arm to steady him.
Lance blinked, then let out a sharp laugh.
"Fuck," he muttered, half breathless. "I can stand."
He looked down at his legs like they didn't belong to him.
"I can stand the fuck up."
"Sit down," Susan said quickly.
