And a man—a Mesaarkan—who had lifted me out of a ditch like I was worth saving, then handed me back my own knife handle-first.
“Rygnar,” I said before I could rehearse it into something safer. “Back there… thank you.”
He inclined his head. Not a bow, not a dismissal. An acknowledgment.
“You would have done the same,” he said.
“I don’t know if I would have moved that fast,” I said and heard the thin thread of humor in my own voice. It startled me enough that I looked down, embarrassed.
He made a sound that might have been a laugh if someone had taught him how. “Fast is easier than thinking,” he said. “With thinking, I am slower.”
I should have left it there. It felt like a good place to stop—on the safe side of whatever line we were walking. But the storm outside had drawn the world small, and the cave made the small feel honest.
“I’m glad you were fast,” I said. “I want to be fast again later. For you. If you ever need it.”
The words surprised both of us.
He didn’t look away. The set of his mouth changed—softened, not into a smile exactly, but something near it. It did something odd to my breathing.
His hands were braced on his knees, fingers loose, nails blunt. I had watched those hands move for hours: the clean surgical work of the wrap on my ankle, the careful way he had turned the lantern toward me so the heat wouldn’t lick my face.
Those were not monster hands.
Or if they were, the monster had an excellent bedside manner.
“May I?” I asked, already reaching before I had permission. I caught myself and waited.
He tipped his head, curious.
“The scarf.” I held up the edge of it by way of excuse. “It’s slipping. Above the wrap.”
He nodded once.
I scooted around the canister, careful not to crowd him, careful with the ankle. The warmth grew as I moved closer to him. Not heat like a human’s—lower, steadier. A furnace set to a sensible setting.
I expected his skin to feel cold. Hard. Slick.
It didn’t.
The band above the polymer was clean skin. The faint smell of med gel rose when I loosened the knot and retied it, anchoring the pressure where it needed to be. My fingers brushed the inside of his arm. I felt the slight tension and release of muscle beneath skin as he made himself stay very still.
“Better,” I said, and leaned back enough for him to breathe whatever breath he had been holding.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “You have steady hands.”
“Only when they’re busy,” I said, and meant it.
I settled again. The cave let us listen to the rain together without filling the space between us with anything we didn’t want yet.
Exhaustion started to gnaw at the edges of my focus. My eyelids felt heavier than my pack. Ben’s face kept trying to come back and sit across from me. I let it. I let it and failed to hold it without breaking. My eyes burned and spilled anyway.
Rygnar didn’t look away. He didn’t stare. He let me cry like it was weather—arriving, passing.
When I could breathe again, I wiped my face with the back of my wrist and huffed out a laugh that wasn’t funny.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Do not be.”
