Keeper of the Lost Cities: Rebuild [COMPLETED]

Chapter Twenty-Six - STINA

"I'm fine," Stina insisted, for what had to be the seventy-millionth time that evening. This time she emphasized her statement with a flail of the arm, which managed to not smack Dr. What's-His-Name in the creased forehead, which was incredibly infuriating given how much she had really wanted to do just that.

"If by 'fine,' you mean you will be after I take your blood pressure, then yes, you are," the doctor said quite rudely, shoving the weird human contraption toward Stina's arm.

"Nope!" she said, jerking away. "Just let me see my friends, bucko!"

"I don't think that word is as insulting as you're going for," he deadpanned, letting his hands—and the blood pressure thingy-ma-bob—drop. His face, a lot wrinkly-er than Stina was used to, looked weary.

Good, she thought. Maybe she had worn him down.

"I'll give you five minutes to prepare," he said. "Then I'm coming back, and I will be taking your blood pressure." He gave her a side-eye, as if unsure whether or not to trust her alone in the medical tent, but then seemed to decide to risk it.

It wasn't as if she could go that far anyway; in the fall from the chase, she'd managed to twist her ankle. That was how, when the three of them awkwardly shuffled—and in Stina's case, limped—into the campsite, Belisia had known something had gone wrong.

Maruca seemed stuck on the fact that Stina had "almost died," but... she hadn't died. To Stina, the human was what they should be focusing on. It was too much of a coincidence that they had found him again.

They'd told Belisia about it as soon as they arrived. She had then gone to search the records of humans whose memories had been altered. Maruca and Fitz were probably with her now, doing something actually useful, while Stina was stuck on a bed with a dude that was too old to be alive, in her opinion.

It was ridiculous—which was why she swung her legs over the side of the cot. Sharp bites of pain shot up her foot, and she hissed as quietly as she could.

If only Elwin were there, he could give her a tonic that would heal her immediately. But no, they had to be in a Forbidden City in a secret camp doing questionable things.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered under her breath, hobbling toward the tent's flap. She lifted it out of her face, prepared to hop through, when her hand brushed someone's skin. She whisper-screamed, still in sneak-mode, and poked her head out to find Fitz.

"What are you doing right there?" she demanded, not really sure how she felt about how close he was to the tent flap. He was too close to have just gotten there, plus it hadn't looked like he'd been in motion.

So... he was stalking me.

Yeah, that was creepy.

"I was coming to check on you," he said, brow furrowing even more than Dr. Wrinkly Face's. "Is your ankle any better?" He peered over her shoulder, eyes scanning the makeshift hospital room. "Should you even be up?"

"Shh!" Stina hissed, smacking her fingers over his mouth. "I'm making an escape, and I've got a limited time to do it, so you either help me or get out of my way."

Fitz rolled his eyes but grabbed her wrist anyway, pulling it behind his neck so her arm was draped over his shoulder.

"Have you found that guy's record?" Stina asked as they made their way to the center of the site.

"No. Belisia and Maruca are looking right now. I was updating Bronte on what's been going on."

"Have you told him about the heist?"