She makes a soft noise of agreement as she gets her samples and neatly stitches the first cut, leaving space for it to drain before she bandages it and addresses the cut on Neal’s shoulder. “They’re very clean in terms of the actual cuts themselves. Like… weirdly, unnaturally clean. You were attacked?”

There’s a note of doubt in her voice, and she looks at Neal with a quiet calculation in her eyes. Neal doesn’t really register the risk involved in her suspicions. At least not the risk for his being kept in the hospital.

“Yes,” he says, regardless, because it’s true.