Elena’s question has Elliot’s eyes flickering to me and then back down to her hand. He chuckles, cutting himself off with a wince that sounds painful. “Sweetheart, I’ve been a surgeon longer than you’ve been alive. I know what a laceration from glass looks like.” He throws his arm around her shoulders and leads her to his guest bedroom. He sits Elena down at the small desk against the far wall, and I grab a chair and sit next to her, placing my hand gently on her thigh in a gesture of comfort.
