She stood up immediately when she saw me move.

“Hello, Claire,” she said softly.

“I’m Nurse Evans.”

“Where…” I began, my throat dry.

“You’re in the west wing of the Whitmore estate,” she said, pouring water from a glass pitcher.

She held the cup to my lips, supporting the back of my head with a gentle hand.

The water was cold and cleared some of the stickiness from my mouth.

“Mr. Whitmore had this room prepared for you this morning,” Nurse Evans explained.

“It is fully equipped for your recovery.”

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked.

“Nearly six hours,” she said.

“Your vitals have stabilized beautifully since we got you out of the hospital.”

The door to the bedroom creaked open.

Ruth stepped inside, holding a tray with a bowl of steaming broth.

Her gray hair was pulled back into its usual tight bun, but her face looked tired.

She looked at the nurse.

“I can take over for a few minutes, dear,” Ruth said.

“Go down to the kitchen and get some tea.”

Nurse Evans smiled and slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.