She doesn’t sit up.
“They figured out Clarke needs more sedatives,” she mumbles flatly when Lye enters her room.
He pulls her glasses out of his pocket. The left lens is missing. “They should have you a new pair by the end of the week.” He places them on the pillow beside her head.
Miranda’s fingers curl around the hem of his shirt. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
He sits on the bed beside her and runs a hand through her hair. “It’s growing back,” he says lightly.
She doesn’t answer.
He brushes her hair until she cries herself to sleep.