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You’ve been unconscious most of the day.’ She takes the glass from me and goes about checking the machines that are reading out my vitals from a medical bracelet strapped to my wrist. ‘I’ve just upped your pain relief, which should see you through the next six hours.’
    â€˜What happened to my hands?’ I try to flex my fingers and they feel stiff. ‘Why are they bandaged?’
    â€˜They’re healing very nicely,’ she replies vaguely. ‘You don’t need to worry about a thing. A doctor should be in to see you soon enough and will explain more.’
    â€˜What happened to me? Why won’t you tell me where I am?’
    â€˜Someone will be in to see you shortly.’ Her voice turns crisp. ‘Just try to relax.’
    Then she’s gone, the door sliding shut behind her. I swing my feet off the bed and my head gives a little spin. Taking a moment to steady myself, I wobble to the window and peer out.
    Tall, clean buildings stare back at me opposite an expanse of green grass. Beyond, I spy quaint looking shops with colourful fronts and red tiled rooftops. A clear blue sky stretches out and it’s all so perfect looking, I half suspect it’s a huge high-vis screen. Trying the window, I find it’s locked and panic builds inside of me.
    There’s a bathroom attached to the room and my clothes sit in a sealed bag on the toilet. I pull the hospital gown off, then tear the bag open. I manage to get into my jeans, but struggle with hooking the back of my bra, my wrapped hands not cooperating. A funny sensation prickles the back of my neck and I turn to see Leather Jacket leaning against the bathroom’s doorframe, watching me. He’s bigger than I remember and looks scruffy against the hospital white. His thick shoulders shift under his jacket as he folds his arms, looking at me like I’m insane. Tattoos peek out from his sleeves, shaded in strokes of charcoal black and ocean blue.
    â€˜Going somewhere?’ he asks.
    My face flames the same moment my bra straps ping out of my hands. Scrambling to cover myself, I spin to give him my back.
    â€˜Do you mind?’ I glare at him over my shoulder, a thousand questions filling my mind. But I don’t ask them. I tell myself it’s not the right time, but really I think I’m just terrified of the answer.
    â€˜Need some help?’ He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.
    I shrug, like I’m not worried. ‘Fine. Whatever.’
    He gives a snort of amusement as he steps into the small bathroom. I tense when I feel the heat of his body behind me. His hands aren’t exactly gentle as they grab the ends of my bra and snap them together. My face gets hotter and the whole situation makes me want to die of embarrassment.
    â€˜That was quick.’ I snatch up my top, quickly pulling it on.
    â€˜I’ve had a lot of practice,’ he deadpans. I take an uncertain step back, hip banging into the sink. With my top on, I feel my pride inching up a notch.
    â€˜How long have I been here?’ I ask.
    He checks the read on a sleek black band around his wrist. ‘Almost eighteen hours.’
    My mind races. Eighteen hours unconscious? What had happened to knock me out for that long? My skin prickles when he steps forward, crowding me. His face is impassive, but I get the impression he wants answers and he’s used to getting them.
    My boots sit on the floor behind him. I know all I’ve got to do is stuff my feet into them and I’ll be one step closer to feeling normal. Leather Jacket follows my gaze and frowns, backing up.
    â€˜You know you’re not going anywhere, right?’ He leans a shoulder against the doorframe again.
    â€˜Where exactly am I?’ I ask. ‘And how did I get here?’
    He runs a hand over the close-cut side of his head and heavy silver rings glint in the bathroom light. ‘How about you tell me how you entered the slipstream