Friday morning Kai was up at five.
He pressed his palm to the floor before he was fully awake.
Shira — already awake. Her rhythm had the deliberate quality that meant she’d been lying there for a while, thinking.
Mira — also awake. Earlier than usual.
Both of them up before he’d even started the kettle.
He made breakfast without making it into something. Rice, eggs, the second rotation of specialty ingredients — the optical pathway compounds this time, Mira’s blend. He kept Shira’s separate the way the woman at the market had instructed.
He knocked on both doors at the same time. An unfamiliar move. He usually went one at a time.
Both doors opened within seconds of each other.
Shira was already in her chair with the new brace on. She’d done it herself.
Mira was dressed, cane in hand, hair pulled back.
Both of them looked toward the hallway as if they’d been waiting.
Kai looked at them.
"Clinic’s at ten," he said. "We leave at nine-fifteen."
Breakfast was quiet.
A different quiet from the early days. Not the silence of three strangers managing a situation. Something that had more air in it.
Halfway through the meal Mira put her spoon down and reached for her marker.
I looked up Creston Recovery Institute, she wrote.
Kai waited.
Their Gift-channel nerve program has a twelve percent full recovery rate for injuries in the first two years.
She lowered the board.
Kai looked at her.
"That’s higher than the previous clinic said," Kai said.
Yes, she wrote.
Another pause. She wrote something else and held it up slowly.
My injury is at seven months. Still within the first two years.
"I know," Kai said.
Mira held the board for a moment longer.
Then she lowered it and picked up her spoon.
She didn’t write anything else.
But she finished the entire bowl — the specialty blend and all — without being asked.
Shira had been looking at her bowl during this exchange. When Mira put her spoon down, Shira said without looking up: "The spinal program at Creston uses targeted electrical stimulation on nerve pathway reconstruction."
Kai looked at her.
"I read their methodology paper," Shira said. "Three months ago. Before." She paused. "Before I thought it was relevant."
A silence.
"It’s still relevant," Kai said.
Shira looked at her bowl.
"Yes," she said. Quietly. "I know."
They left at nine-fifteen exactly.
Shira had been waiting in the hallway three minutes before that with her jacket on and her bag on her lap, which Kai pretended not to notice.
Mira was at the door at nine-thirteen, cane in hand, which Kai also pretended not to notice.
He pushed Shira’s wheelchair. Mira walked on his left with two fingers on his forearm in the way that had become their navigation shorthand.
The cab was already waiting.
The driver had a ramp — Kai had specifically requested one. It extended automatically and Shira rolled onto it without needing to be transferred, which meant she could do the whole thing without Kai touching her, which meant her pride survived intact.
She didn’t say anything about the ramp.
But when she was settled in the cab she looked at the window with the expression that meant she’d noticed and was processing it.
Mira got in beside her.
The two of them in the back seat, Kai in the front.
The driver pulled out and for a while nobody spoke.
Then, from the back seat, Mira’s whiteboard appeared in the gap between the front seats.
Kai read it.
Shira. The electrical stimulation program. Did the paper describe the pain level during sessions.
Kai turned to pass the board back.
Shira had already read it over his shoulder.
"Moderate to significant," Shira said. "Depends on the extent of nerve damage. Worse at the start. Decreases as pathways rebuild."
Mira’s hand appeared for her board. She wrote.
I know a specialist who worked on the sound frequency approach for optic nerve reconstruction. She published three papers. Creston uses her second paper’s methodology.
Shira was quiet.
Then she said: "The electrical approach and the frequency approach can be run in parallel if the patient load allows."
Mira wrote: Which means we could share session scheduling.
Shira looked at the window.
"Possibly," she said. Very carefully.
Another silence.
Then Mira wrote one more thing and held it up.
That would be more efficient.
Shira said nothing.
But the line of her shoulders shifted by one degree.
Kai faced forward and watched the road and said absolutely nothing.
He was extremely proud of both of them.
Creston Recovery Institute was on the fourth floor of a building that smelled like clean air and someone’s serious investment in good lighting.
The reception staff addressed Shira directly when she came in. Not at Kai. Not past her to ask her carer what she needed. Directly at her.
"Ms. Voss? Welcome. Dr. Harlen is ready when you are."
Shira’s posture changed by a fraction. Not much. Just enough.
The staff member turned to Mira and spoke to her with the same directness, describing the layout of the room in a clear even tone so Mira could orient without fumbling.
Kai stood back and let them handle it.
The assessments took two hours.
Kai waited in the consultation area outside with a cup of bad coffee and his notebook.
He wrote:
Shira — trace Gift activation detected. Nerve pain reduced from baseline. Specialty ingredients day one.
Mira — hummed twice. Second instance longer than first. Pathway alive.
He looked at the notes.
Then he wrote:
Foundation visit — handled. Won’t be the last.
He underlined it.
Then he wrote something he hadn’t planned to write.
Both of them researched the clinic on their own. Both of them are quietly trying.
He looked at that for a while.
Then he closed the notebook.
===
Shira came out first.
She wheeled herself to where Kai was sitting and stopped.
She had a folder on her lap. The clinic’s assessment documents.
She looked at them.
Then she looked at Kai.
"The nerve damage is at seventy-one percent," she said. "Lower than my discharge assessment. The discharge said seventy-four."