Excerpt:

“Is Evan Carmichael still in there?” Cam asks.

“No, he left for the infirmary almost an hour ago.”

“Thank you, I— the infirmary?”

~

Evan glances up at the sharp retort of boots, winces, drops his gaze.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re in the infirmary,” Cam says, “or should I?”

“Celia said I was fine for light exercise,” Evan protests, well aware his position is indefensible, but who would he be if he didn’t try?

Cam raises his eyebrows at the ankle propped up on the bed in front of him, swollen under the cluster of ice packs. Evan resists the urge to cross his legs, settles for glaring at his bare foot.

“What, exactly, were you doing?” Cam asks, unimpressed.

“Would you believe me if I said sit-ups?”

“No.”

Evan sighs, scrubs at his face with one hand. “I might have been sparring.” He sees Cam go still out of the corner of his eye; there is no way this is going to end well. “And before you ask, no, I’m not going to tell you who with.” He looks up to see Cam’s lips pressed together, eyes tight.

He knows that look.

“Specialist,” Cam says tersely, and it’s a dismissal. Evan watches him stride out of the infirmary, slumps back against the pillow between him and the wall, considering his options.

Time for some damage control.

~