She brings it to my mouth.
It takes what her fingers give, biting carefully, the texture rough against my tongue, grounding in a way the pain is not. She watches closely, breaking it smaller when I cannot manage more, guiding each piece with the same quiet care.
Crumbs cling to my lips; she brushes them away without thinking. She watches me as though nothing else exists, her brow drawn faintly with concentration, her mouth parted slightly as if she might speak if only she could. The candlelight flickers across her face, catching in her eyes, making them shine.
There is no fear in them.
For a moment—only a moment—the tightness in my chest loosens. The pain does not vanish, but it recedes, just enough to let something else exist beside it.
I breathe.
Ilinca’s hand remains near mine, close enough that I feel it there.
Her eyes move from my face to my bound hands, then lower, hesitating only a fraction before settling on my leg. I see the moment she understands more than she had before.
She reaches for the rope with trembling fingers.
Small hands against coarse fibres, pulling, worrying at the knots with a quiet urgency that makes my breath catch. She tugs again, harder this time, her shoulders straining with the effort, her breath coming faster though no sound escapes her. The rope does not give. It only bites deeper into my skin, unmoved by her insistence.
I shake my head faintly.
"It will not," I whisper, my voice barely more than air. Each word scrapes my throat raw. "Ilinca… it will not."
She does not stop.
Her hands move again, searching for some weakness in it, some place where it might loosen if she only tries hard enough. The candlelight flickers with her movement, shadows trembling along the walls. Her face tightens, something desperate passing over it.
My leg throbs beneath the iron. The smell of blood has thickened, heavier now. Even if she could free my hands—
"Listen to me," I breathe.
She stills. Slowly, she lifts her head.
"You must go. Now." The words come in fragments, forced through pain, through the weight pressing down on my chest. "If they see you… if they know you came—"
I swallow, the motion strained and difficult. "They will hurt you."
Her eyes widen as she shakes her head, a small, stubborn motion.
"Yes," I insist, more firmly than my body wants to allow. "You must go back. Do not make a sound. Do not let them see you."
My voice falters, softening despite myself.
"Please."
She hesitates.
For a moment she looks as though she might refuse, her hands still resting against the rope, fingers curled as though they cannot quite let go. The candlelight catches the wetness in her eyes.
"Go," I whisper again, my breath trembling now. "Please, Ilinca."
The word seems to reach her at last.
Slowly, her shoulders lower. Her hands fall away from the knots, the fight leaving her in a way that feels heavier than anything before. She nods, once, her lips pressing together as though holding something back. Her fingers rise to my face instead, brushing away the tears I had not felt falling. I close my eyes for a moment, leaning into it without meaning to.
Then her lips press softly against my cheek. The contact is brief, warm, gone before I can hold onto it.
I do not resist as she ties the cloth back over my mouth, careful not to pull too tight, as though she might undo some part of the harm simply by not adding to it. The fabric settles into place, muting the breath I draw, sealing me back into silence.
