He's usually so neutral—professional healer composure maintained at all times. But right now he's looking at me like I just accomplished something miraculous instead of creating basic light refraction.
The expression makes heat crawl up my neck again, different from my earlier embarrassment. This warmth has nothing to do with mortification and everything to do with the way he's seeing me right now.
"What?" I manage, suddenly very aware of how close we're standing.
"Nothing." But he doesn't look away, doesn't restore his neutral mask. "You looked happy. It's good to see."
The observation lands heavy in my chest. When was the last time someone told me it was good to see me happy? When was the last time I felt happy enough for it to show?
"It's just a rainbow," I say, though my voice comes out soft.
"It's not just anything." His gaze holds mine. "It's you creating something beautiful after everything tried to break you. That's worth acknowledging."
The words steal my breath. I stand there holding the water skin while he watches me with that impossibly soft expression, and I can't remember what I'm supposed to say or do or think.
All I know is that Falla sees me. Really sees me. Not as damaged or broken or something that needs fixing, but as someone capable of creating beauty despite everything.
And I have no idea what to do with how that makes me feel.
13
FALLA
I've lost my mind.
That's the only explanation for why I can't stop staring at Ressa while she creates rainbows in the morning light, her face transformed by genuine delight. The professional distance I'm supposed to maintain—the careful boundaries I've constructed between healer and patient—crumble into dust every time she laughs.
She deserves endless rainbows. The thought lodges in my chest with uncomfortable intensity. She deserves every beautiful thing after what she survived.
"Show me how to make it bigger," she says, turning toward me with that same bright expression. No trace of the anxiety that usually shadows her features. No careful guardedness. Just open, unfiltered happiness.
It does dangerous things to my composure.
"Wider arc," I manage, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. "And use more water. The mist needs to spread further."
She tries again, adjusting her stance. The rainbow expands slightly but wavers when the spray pattern shifts.
"Here." I move closer, reaching around her to guide the angle of the water skin in her hands. "Keep the pressure steady and sweep from left to right."
The position puts me directly behind her, close enough that I catch the scent of soap and something uniquely her—warmth and resilience and life persisting despite everything. My hands cover hers, helping control the water skin's movement.
She doesn't tense. Doesn't pull away or freeze in panic.
Instead she leans back slightly, her shoulder blades brushing my chest, and sweeps the water in the arc I demonstrated. A larger rainbow blooms in the mist, colors vibrant and sustained.
"Perfect," I say, though my voice is rough.
She's warm against me. Trusting. The realization crashes through my carefully maintained control because Ressa doesn't trust easily—doesn't allow people in her space, doesn't lean into touch, doesn't let her guard down.
But she's doing all of that right now. With me.
I should step back. Create professional distance. Remember that I'm her healer and she's my patient and there are boundaries that exist for good reasons.
I don't move.
"We could add crystals," I hear myself say instead, maintaining the position like I'm not acutely aware of every point where we're touching. "Refract the light further. Make the colors more intense."
"You have crystals?"
