It was in the soft blue light of early morning that Amelia Don finally stirred.
Her fingers moved first, small, uncoordinated flexes against the hospital sheets, the kind of instinctive motion the body made as it began the long climb back from somewhere deep and distant.
Then her brow furrowed, then her shoulders shifted ever so slightly.
The Vanguard guards, who had maintained their vigil in rotating shifts at her bedside for five days, came alert as one.
Emma rose from her chair first and the others followed within seconds, attention quietly converging on the bed. Nobody spoke, they didn't want to disturb the fragile moment unfolding before them.
