"Yes," he says quietly. He rises in search of a table, and finds the nearest one equipped with chairs, two of which he drags to the side of the bed. He sinks into one of them, hissing out a tight, anxious breath between clenched teeth. He passes a hand through his hair and must exert significant effort not to reach to dissect the intricacies of Asadi's arm. In her current state, he is just as capable of making things worse as he is of potentially salvaging anything.

Waiting is intolerable. Both hands drop into his lap, and he sighs.