Before I began hyperventilating, assuming I was even able to do that, I focused on what I could do. Voices carried from outside, so I could hear, and my eyes seemed to work again. I attempted to blink, and after one or two tries it worked, though I still couldn’t feel anything. It was like my entire body was asleep, so I spent minutes concentrating on making baby steps. First it was wiggling my nose, then my pinky on one hand, then the other.
After what seemed like hours, I was able to move my head to the left. It was a painstaking process of trying to force the inert muscles into obeying my mind, but eventually it worked. At least I had a nice new view. Amon was seated next to me sound asleep, his head resting on his arms, which were folded over the edge of what I now realized was a cot.
I couldn’t speak, but at least I was able to look at his handsome face while I slowly regained the use of my limbs. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when we entered the tomb, and though he’d washed his face and arms, there were clumps of dirt in his hair.
Long lashes fanned out over his bronzed cheeks, and I realized that though there was no denying Amon was a beautiful sun god, I actually preferred him this way—a smear of dirt on his neck, exhausted from a hard day of work, and utterly…human.
I didn’t even realize I’d been stretching my arm, until my fingers made contact with his hair. Immediately, Amon opened his eyes. “Lily?” he asked, wiping the sleep from them and scooting closer. “Can you hear me?”
As he took my hand, now cleaned of the red powder, I nodded, nearly imperceptibly. He caught the movement.
“Good. Dr. Hassan said you would awaken soon. I will retrieve him.”
My throat closed off with my attempt to call him back. I wanted it to be just the two of us for now—I had so many questions—but I had to acknowledge that there would be time for questions later, and honestly, there wasn’t much chance of me uttering a syllable, let alone a full question, any time soon.
There was a shuffling of tent flaps and two men came in with Amon. The older of the two set a lantern down on the table next to me and pulled a stool over to my cot, then took off his white fedora and set it on the table.
“There’s my girl,” he said with a clipped accent, lifting my eyelids to get a better look at my eyes. “I knew you’d be returning to us soon.”
I liked his soothing voice. He seemed to be near retirement age, with a full head of white hair. His eyes were shiny brown, like melted chocolate, and his skin was darkly tanned from the sun. When he grinned I noticed he had not one but two dimples. Amon knelt next to him, peppering him with questions, worry obvious on his face. The man nodded sympathetically and answered patiently before turning in my direction.
“My name is Dr. Osahar Hassan, but most of my American friends call me Oscar,” he said. Picking up my hand, he patted it and flashed the aforementioned dimples. “I am especially fond of the moniker when used by attractive young ladies such as yourself. Now, let’s see how much progress we’ve made, shall we? Can you try to squeeze my hand?”
I tried, but could barely feel my hand in his, let alone give it a squeeze. Still, he smiled and said, “That’s good! Excellent! She is much further along than I’d thought she’d be after the level of toxin she inhaled.”
As my mind processed the word toxin, Amon nodded worriedly and asked, “How much longer until she is fully recovered?”
Dr. Hassan cupped his chin and stroked it as if he had a beard, a sign he’d probably had one at some time but now was rewarded with the rasping sound of a rough palm against skin that needed a shave. “I would say she should be recovered enough by morning to leave. The two of you are welcome to stay in the tent tonight.”
Clasping the man’s arm, Amon replied, “Your hospitality shall not be forgotten, Doctor.”
With a sly but kind expression, Dr. Hassan hinted, “Perhaps while we wait, we can further discuss your insights on a few things.”
“It would be my honor to oblige,” Amon answered.