Live to Venture (#0)

23 | The Relapse of Adventure

Novari opened her eyes to nothing but cat fur. When she'd gained enough consciousness to realize it was the ship's cat, Whale, she pushed him away far enough to sit up a little. He stirred a little, annoyed.

She was in the captain's quarters, with bright sunlight streaming in from the window above her head and the black comforter spilling over the sides of the mattress. She sat up some more.

It didn't feel like the same place she'd gone snooping in just a few days ago, examining his ring and reading through his journals. This time, it felt like she'd woken up in some coveted place she wasn't supposed to see, all forbidden luxury and power.

You're the new champion.

Now that was a name Novari could live with having. Champion. At this point, all she had to do was hold on with dear life to that title. She didn't care if Bardarian had used her to make some point against his first mate, because she was the new champion.

At the sound of a knock on the door, Whale startled, eyes wide as Miller came through.

"Good morning," the doctor said warily, blonde curls catching sunlight. She knelt next to the bed, reaching for Novari's arm. "I'm just going to have to—" She cut off, running her hands over the broken arm. "What?"

"What?" Novari asked. She already knew Miller didn't like her, but she wasn't sure what she'd done this time.

"That's...that's impossible." Miller continued to massage at her arm, causing more pain than Novari cared to admit. "Captain!" the doctor called. "Come here!"

Novari watched the door for him. His hand curled around the frame first, then he leaned through, eyes on Miller. "What?"

"Come look at this," Miller said, still in disbelief.

Bardarian sighed as he pushed off the doorway. He took a knee next to the doctor and looked at Novari's arm. "That's impossible," he said.

"What is?" Novari asked. She'd been wrapped over her chest, and her stomach was a mess of nasty bruises, but nothing was new there; internal bleeding always went away on its own.

"Your arm," Bardarian clarified, watching Miller run her fingers over the smooth skin in amazement.

Novari looked down. The bone was where it should be, the bruises starting to clear up. "What?"

"It's healed!" Miller exclaimed. "The break is fused already!"

Novari glanced up at the doctor. "It usually does that," she said.

Bardarian rested his forearm on the duvet, right over Novari's thigh. "Bones in general don't usually do that," he noted.

"Bones never do that," Miller corrected, clearly liking Novari a lot more now. "You're a miracle; I thought you'd never use this arm properly ever again."

They both looked to her for explanation, but Novari didn't realize this was that big of a deal. "Sirens heal quickly," she said.

"But—I mean, the entire bone is refused!" Miller said. "It's like some sort of mixed-raced phenomena. You're genetically perfect."

"Thank you," Novari said slowly, but she was watching Bardarian as he ran his fingers over her arm, lighter than when Miller did it. "Adrian?" she asked.

"Hiding," he replied. "Won't let anyone see him, not even Miller. He'll be dead in a few days if he keeps this up."

"He's probably dead now," Miller said, getting to her feet. "That was a severe neck injury. I'm not sure he'd survive even if he was letting me treat him."