"We leave." I meet her gaze directly. "No questions, no arguments. You say the word, we're gone."
She searches my face for something—deception, maybe, or ulterior motive. Whatever she finds must satisfy her because some of the tension bleeds from her shoulders.
"This is insane."
"Probably."
"I'm going to regret this."
"Maybe." I pull out the bitter tea again, set it next to the yarrow-mint paste. "But you'll regret staying in this cabin more. Trust me on that."
Her laugh comes out bitter, humorless. "Trust. Right."
"You don't have to trust the situation. Just trust that I'll keep my word about the exits and interference." I head toward the door, giving her space. "Think about it. Festival starts in two days. Let me know."
"Falla."
I pause, hand on the doorframe.
"You're really willing to spend a week babysitting me through Drogath's nonsense just to get me out of this cabin?"
"I'm willing to spend a week ensuring my patient doesn't deteriorate further due to self-imposed isolation." I glance back at her. "Call it professional obligation."
She studies me for a long moment, something shifting in those brown eyes. Not trust, exactly. But maybe the beginning of considering it.
"Okay."
The word comes out quiet, almost reluctant. But it's there.
"Okay?"
"Okay." She straightens slightly, wincing at her ribs. "I'll partner with you for this ridiculous festival. But the second it becomes too much?—"
"We're out." I nod once, satisfied. "Use the salves. Both of them. Twice daily."
"Bossy."
"Practical." I step through the door, pause on the threshold. "And drink the tea. You look like hell."
"Charming bedside manner you've got there."
"I save charm for patients who follow instructions." I close the door behind me, leaving her with her supplies and her agreement and hopefully some small measure of relief that she won't have to face Drogath's festival alone.
Two days to prepare. Two days to figure out how to guide someone through partnership trials when she can barely stand being in the same settlement as the partners.
I head back toward the healing house, mind already working through logistics. This is going to be complicated. Possibly disastrous. Almost certainly a terrible idea.
But watching her rot in that cabin was worse.
At least this way she'll be moving. Interacting. Living instead of just existing.
And if it all falls apart spectacularly, well. I've handled worse disasters.
Probably.
4
RESSA
