I recognize the look in her eyes. Saw it in Ressa's face those first few check-ins when she'd been ready to bolt at any sudden movement. This woman has been through hell and come out the other side sharp as broken glass.
"You're right to be suspicious," I say, keeping my voice even and non-threatening. "After what you've been through, trust would be stupid. But these women need medical attention. Look at them."
She doesn't turn around, refusing to take her eyes off perceived threats. But I can see the way her hands shake, the way exhaustion makes her shoulders droop despite her defiant stance.
"What do you want?" she demands.
"To look at injuries. Clean wounds. Make sure infections don't kill anyone." I set my healer's kit on the ground and step back from it, hands visible. "You can watch everything I do. If you don't like it, I stop. But let me help them. Please."
The please seems to throw her. She blinks, confusion flickering across her face like she wasn't expecting basic courtesy.
"Why would you help us?" Her voice cracks slightly on the last word.
"Because you need it. Because what happened to you was wrong. Because no one deserves to suffer like this." I think of Ressa, of how small she'd looked when Kai carried her into the settlement. "And because someone very important to me was where you are not that long ago. I know what the Stonevein do. Know what they take. I can't give that back, but I can try to help you heal."
Something shifts in her expression. Not trust—that will take time if it comes at all—but a slight easing of the rigid terror holding her upright.
"Just you," she says finally. "No other males."
"Agreed." I glance at Kai and Ursik. "Can you give us space?"
Kai nods, already backing away. Ursik follows more reluctantly, clearly unhappy about leaving me alone with eight traumatized women, one of whom looks ready to murder someone. But he goes.
Bronn hesitates. "Falla?—"
"I'll be fine. Go organize housing. They'll need somewhere to stay."
He leaves too, though not without a backward glance.
I'm alone with them now, though I know there are guards watching a little farther away. Eight pairs of eyes watching me with varying degrees of fear and hostility. The dark-haired woman still stands between me and the others like she's willing to fight me bare-handed if necessary.
"My name is Falla," I say again, keeping my voice gentle. I doubt she listened the first time. "I'm a healer. I've been doing this all my life, and I'm good at it. I need to check everyone for serious injuries—broken bones, infections, anything that needs immediate treatment. I'll talk you through everything I'm doing. If anyone wants me to stop, I stop. Understood?"
Silence.
Then, quietly, from somewhere in the back: "My leg hurts."
The dark-haired woman's shoulders tense, but she doesn't protest when a younger girl—maybe seventeen—limps forward. Her left leg drags awkwardly, and even from here I can see the swelling around her ankle.
"Can I look at that?" I ask.
The girl glances at the dark-haired woman, who gives a tight nod.
I examine the ankle carefully, explaining each step. Badly sprained, maybe fractured. Needs to be wrapped and elevated. As I work, the other women slowly edge closer, their curiosity and pain overcoming caution.
By the time I've seen all eight of them, cataloging injuries that make my hands clench with rage, the dark-haired woman has finally sat down. She's watching me with sharp intelligence, analyzing every word and movement.
"You're different," she says abruptly. "From the ones who had us."
"Stonevein are brutal. We're not."
"You're still orcs."
"We are." I finish wrapping a wound on another woman's arm. "But we don't hurt humans. Don't sacrifice them or use them for entertainment. The woman I love is human. She was taken by Stonevein too. I know what they do."
Interest flickers in her eyes. "She survived?"
"She did. Healed, even, though it took time. She lives here now. Chose to stay."
