"We're friends," I manage, the words coming uncertain even to my own ears. "I think. Maybe more than friends? I don't know what we are."
"You could ask him," Saela suggests, her tone carrying traces of amusement.
"That seems terrifying."
"More terrifying than everything else you've survived recently?" She gives me a pointed look. "You faced down Stonevein orcs, got dragged to a clan gathering, and somehow got the grumpiest healer in Frostfang territory to be your festival partner. I think you can handle one conversation about feelings."
I don't tell her that I had no choice in any of those options. That this is the first thing I have the option to do or walk away from. My mind is screaming to be safe. But my heart… My heart agrees with Saela.
And she makes it sound so simple. Like asking Falla what we are won't potentially ruin whatever tentative thing we've built. Like I won't say the wrong thing and watch him retreat behind professional boundaries.
"He's worried that he's crossing lines as my healer," I hear myself admit.
Shae's hands still on her carving. "Do you feel like he is?"
I shake my head. "I don't think anything happened between us because he came to my house to heal. I think it was all separate." I swallow, tired of drowning in my thoughts alone. "I told him I wanted him."
The confession sits heavy in the air between us. I wait for judgment or concern or the careful pity I've come to expect. Instead, Saela grins like I've just told her the best news of her life.
"About damn time."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you deserve something good, Ressa." She sets down the knife sheath, her expression going soft. "You deserve to feel safe with someone. To be happy. Falla's a good male."
"I know he is." That truth has become undeniable over the past week. Falla's proven his character through action—every careful boundary respected, every panic attack handled with competence instead of pity, every moment of vulnerability met with steady reassurance. "I just don't know what happens next."
"You let it happen naturally," Shae offers quietly. "You see how it feels. You communicate when something doesn't work. You give yourself permission to want this."
Permission to want. The concept feels foreign after months of just trying to survive each day. Wanting implies having space for more than basic needs—implies believing in futures that extend beyond immediate threats.
But I do want this. Want Falla's steady presence and dry humor and the way he makes me feel capable instead of broken. Want to see where the kiss leads, what happens when I let myself trust someone with more than just physical safety.
The realization settles warm in my chest, displacing some of the ever-present anxiety.
"He'll probably worry about me constantly," I say, returning to my knitting with hands that feel less steady than before. "Keep checking that I'm eating enough and sleeping properly and managing my pain."
"And that bothers you?" Shae asks carefully.
I consider the question while completing another row of stitches. Does it bother me? Falla's attention has always carried clinical edges—healer assessment rather than personal interest. But the idea of him worrying because he cares rather than because it's his job...
"No," I admit quietly. "It doesn't bother me. That's the strange part."
Saela reaches over and squeezes my hand, quick and warm. "It's not strange. It's normal. You're allowed to like when someone cares about your wellbeing."
Normal. Another word that doesn't fit the reality I've been living. But sitting here with Saela and Shae, working on gifts while they tease me about kissing, talking about feelings like I'm just a person instead of a trauma victim who needs careful handling...
This feels normal.
For the first time since everything went wrong, I feel like myself again. Not the broken version who hides in empty cabins. Not the terrified girl running through dark woods. Just Ressa—making crafts with friends, blushing about a male who makes her feel safe, cautiously optimistic about what comes next.
The feeling spreads warm through my chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Everything is changing. The thought carries traces of fear because change has meant danger for so long. But maybe this change is different.
Maybe this change is good.
"So what are you going to say to him tonight?" Saela prompts, returning to her leather work. "When you give him the wrap?"
"I haven't thought that far ahead."
