The days here were better measured by scars than calendars, though not all of them were as visible as the ones hampering Ilia.  Ema, you'd better be alright, or I'll...what, exactly? Lana's mouth set in a grim line. "It will be a week tomorrow night."  Six days.  Two trials' worth, and what did she have to show for it? A handful of copied notes and fragments of a future she would have preferred not to think about at all.  "I, too, arrived during the night.  I'm still not sure which is the less pleasant option.  Time to get your bearings...or the immediate confirmation that everything the staff says," she said, inclining her head toward the nurse, as if she were just switching sides with the brush, but her eyebrows told a different story.  Then she continued, "is calibrated to what would be most appropriate for our stages of recovery."

Lana was ready to go -- the sooner she could get to breakfast, the sooner she could see how Ema was doing.  She could ask the nurse; translating their euphemisms was trivial, but she didn't intend to give them any more leverage.  If everyone thought the sisters estranged, all the better.  Including Ema, if it came to that.  Their fragile peace was less important than her safety. Enough. "Do you need any help?