"Do you think she'll be okay? Eventually?"
"Yes."
The certainty in my voice surprises even me. But it's true. I've seen enough trauma cases to recognize the ones who'll make it through versus the ones who won't. Ressa's fighting, even when she doesn't realize it. The fact that she agreed to come today, that she's letting me help however minimally, that she's still trying despite everything—those are good signs.
"She just needs time," I add. "And pressure might make it worse."
Saela nods slowly, understanding settling across her features. "The festival. Do you think it's too much for her?"
The question I've been asking myself since I left her at the cabin.
"Probably," I admit. "But staying locked in that cabin definitely is."
"So you're trying to find the lesser of two evils."
"Something like that."
6
RESSA
I'm already outside when Falla rounds the corner toward my cabin, and the look on his face almost makes yesterday worth it.
His steps falter—barely perceptible, but I catch it. The way his blue-green eyes widen just a fraction before his expression shutters back to its usual neutral assessment.
"You're out of the cabin." He states it like a diagnosis, clinical and factual.
"Astute observation." I cross my arms, fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. The morning air carries a sharp bite that raises goosebumps along my skin, but it feels cleaner than the stale recycled air inside. "I'm ready for Day 2."
Falla stops a respectful distance away, studying me like he's cataloging symptoms. Looking for cracks in my composure, probably. Signs I'm about to shatter again.
I hold his gaze, refusing to shrink back. My hands want to shake but I keep them pressed against my sides, anchored.
"You don't have to." His voice carries no judgment, just statement of fact. "We can skip today. Skip all of it if you need to."
"I know." The words come easier than I expect. "But I want to try."
Something shifts in his expression—not quite approval, but close to it. He tilts his head slightly, reassessing. "Why?"
The question catches me off guard. Most people would just accept the answer and move on, relieved to not deal with my mess. But Falla never does what's expected.
I consider lying, giving him some surface-level response about not wanting to waste his time or feeling better today. But he'd see through it immediately. He always does.
"Because yesterday was terrifying," I admit, the honesty scraping my throat raw. "But it also felt like... progress. Like maybe I can actually do this. Move forward instead of just existing in that cabin waiting to feel less broken."
Falla's jaw works slightly, processing. "And if you panic again?"
"Then you get me out. Like you promised."
"That's not a plan."
"It's the only plan I have."
The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken weight. I can see him working through it—the healer part of his brain probably screaming that this is too much too fast, that I should be taking smaller steps. But whatever internal argument he's having resolves itself when his shoulders drop fractionally.
"Fine." He gestures toward the settlement center. "But the second it becomes too much, you tell me. Don't wait until you're drowning."
"Deal."
