One of the nurses on duty at the desk smiled at her vaguely as she came in. ‘Any change?’ Val asked. The nurse shrugged, glancing at the small form in a large bed, wires and tubes attached to more machinery than any lay person could comprehend. ‘She was a bit restless in the night,’ the nurse said. ‘I was just writing up her notes for the day shift. It could be a good sign, or it could be nothing.’ Val nodded her thanks and approached the bed. As far as she could see the pale face on a delicate stalk of a neck, eyes closed, chest barely moving with each assisted breath, looked no different from the way it had looked the day before. What hair was left after the doctors had cut it away was limp and lifeless, so blonde it was almost colourless, the rest of her head heavily bandaged. An inch to the left and the bullet which had creased her skull would probably have killed her, the nurse had told her the day before. Emma had been lucky, but perhaps not lucky enough.
