“You’re bleeding,” I mutter, withdrawing.
She pockets her phone and lifts her fingers, touching her hairline, and pulls them away to look. A pale green flush slowly transforms her skin, drawing beads of perspiration to the surface.
“Oh.” She blinks at the crimson on her fingertips, her gaze growing glassy.
In seconds, her knees buckle. I drop the mask and rush forward, catching her around the waist before she can collapse. She clutches my forearm as if to steady herself, and I guide us backward into a clearing near the half-burnt gazebo.
After having her sit on a wobbly wooden bench, I reach into my coat, retrieving the pocket-size first aid kit inside.
Elle’s eyebrows arch, though she still looks woozy. “God, you really are a Boy Scout.”
“A simple thank-you would suffice.”
Crouching so we’re eye level, I brush some of the hair from her face. My stomach tightens, and a fierce blush climbs over her cheeks.
She hisses when my thumb grazes the cut, and I wince. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s fine,” she says, swallowing. “I just always forget how cold your hands are.”
“Raynaud’s,” I offer, tearing open an antiseptic wipe to clean the shallow cut. “Narrow blood vessels and limited blood flow. It’s a whole thing, but I really hardly notice it anymore myself. Just when it hurts, I guess.”
“How often does it?”
“Varies, really. Sometimes my fingers and toes are just cold. Sometimes they’re numb. The tingling can get pretty irritating, but mostly it just is what it is.”
“Yeah, I get that.” She nods, averting her gaze as I drop one of the soiled wipes.
“Not a fan of blood, are we?”
“Not particularly, no.” She exhales shakily. “Ironic given my family’s history with it.”
“Their history?”
“Well, you know. My dad’s a doctor.”
“Ah.” I open a Band-Aid and cover the cut with it.
Her breath catches as I smooth my icy thumbs over the edges, but when our eyes lock, it doesn’t feel like the cold matters much anymore.
She takes her bottom lip between her teeth. My nostrils flare as I move away, pocketing the trash.
“Do you always carry Band-Aids with you?”
“You’d be surprised how often students get injured around campus.”
“Is that why you’re out here then? Cruising for someone to rescue?”
“No. I was on my way to a Visio Aternae meeting. They sometimes ask to hold them in the quarry, even when it’s blisteringly cold outside.”
“So what’s the mask for?”
“Best way to keep the ghosts from recognizing you,” I tell her. It’s a partial joke, but she doesn’t seem amused. “The mask isn’t mine. I saw it on the ground and can’t stand litter, so I picked it up.”
“A likely story.”
“You’re awfully accusatory for someone who said she wasjust walkingthrough here. What exactly do you think I was doing?”
What did you see?
