SIX MONTHS AGO, Connor Wright was crushed beneath kilos
of rubble and ash, lungs choked with soot, limbs mangled, blasted
into nothingness.
Today, it all feels like a fractured but vivid dream. Sitting in a
small, tattered chair in a room with jarring yellow lights and a stale
antiseptic scent, across from another useless prescription-pad dressed
in a white coat.