Nothing comes clear.
Too much of last night had felt right to me.
That may be the problem.
“What keeps you wakeful?” I ask.
She goes still for one beat, then resumes tying back her hair. “Nothing.”
There.
A human answer.
A horde female would not say that if the truth were otherwise. She would say leave me. Or tell me the thing plain. Or fight if a fight was needed. Humans hide differently. Protect differently. I am beginning to understand that and hate how little it helps me in the moment.
I say nothing for too long.
Keandra glances at me once, then away, perhaps waiting for me to press harder. I want to. My whole body wants to. I want to pin the truth down with simple force and hold it until I can understand what wounded her.
Instead, I say, “Eat first.”
The words sound wrong the moment they leave my mouth. Too practical. Too normal for the sharpness under the quiet.
Food is what I know how to provide first, and part of me cannot stop believing that if she eats, if she is warm, if the morning is made steady in ordinary ways, whatever has gone strange between us may soften enough to show itself.
She nods once.
I rise and leave the tent long enough to give orders for breakfast, water, and the outer camp tasks already waiting. I do it faster than usual because the whole time my attention is split backward toward the tent and the female inside it. Every few breaths, I catch myself listening for the shift of her movement through the hide walls rather than the voices of the Tors answering me.
One of my seconds notices. Again.
The male watches me too long while taking a route instruction and finally says, “The human Sahri is ill?”
My gaze cuts toward him hard enough that he lowers his eyes immediately.
“Do not speak of her condition unless I ask.”
The male bows his head. “Yes, Kai.”
I turn away before the irritation becomes something sharper. Not because the question was foolish. Because it touched the exact thing I cannot yet name myself.
Is she ill. Wounded. Angry. Afraid. Regretful.
Each possibility moves differently through me. None cleanly.
When I return to the tent, the food has already been delivered. Keandra sits near the brazier with the tray before her. She has eaten some. Not enough. I notice that too.
She notices me noticing.
The air between us goes tight.
So this is how it is today.
Even attention wounds.
I force myself to sit at the low table instead of beside her. Another hard choice. Distance feels wrong in my bones, but if she is pulling inward from me, crowding close will only make her feel trapped inside my concern.
I break bread with my own hands and say nothing. The silence grows heavy fast.
