"You sleep," she mutters, but it lacks heat. Whatever Shuri did to heal her seems to be ongoing; she doesn't hurt, but she does feel dog-tired, which is really the best-case scenario for coming out of a life-threatening injury.

She closes her eyes and exhales in a long slow puff of warm air, her ribs dropping beneath his arm before they rise again, slow and steady with her breath as she allows herself to doze. After that, it's not long before the doze becomes the deep relaxation of sleep, her body a warm, pliable weight next to him.