Exactly two days later Emery is moved to Sanctuary. She is weak, and even that short amount of travel time is almost too much for her. Now she's laying in a comfortable bed in Bishop's clinic, an IV attached to a fluid bag dangling from her frail arm. Milla sits on her other side holding her hand and looking worried while I pace.
"Why is she so weak, Bishop?" I ask the doctor, turning as I reach the wall. I'm pacing because Blaze hasn't enjoyed the hours we've spent here, cooped up inside the clinic's windowless back room. He's fussing in my arms, waving his fists against my shoulders and occasionally wailing in frustration.