“Yes. You disapprove?”
“I understand it. That’s more irritating.”
I lower her pack beside the wall within her reach. Then the map. Then one water skin. I keep the sample. Her eyes track it. I do not miss the way her fingers twitch before stilling.
“You made the right choice,” I say.
Her gaze snaps to mine. “About what?”
“Letting me carry it.”
“I know.”
“No.” Her mouth tightens. I continue anyway. “You want it. You still chose distance because we do not understand the reaction. That is not making yourself smaller.”
She goes very still. The hollow seems to listen.
“That is not yours to decide,” she says.
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because I think you may not decide it fairly.”
Her laugh is small, without humor. “You are very brave for a male within stabbing distance.”
“You are injured.”
“I have another hand.”
“Yes.”
“Do not sound approving.”
“I failed.”
A hint of a smile appears, bruised at the edge by exhaustion. Then it fades.
She reaches for the water skin with her good hand, pauses, and takes it without looking at me. She drinks one mouthful. Then another. Not enough, but it is better. Progress is a stubborn, ugly creature. I accept it.
She leans her head back against the wall, eyes closing. “How long?”
“Until your breathing steadies and the passage remains quiet for a full count.”
“Your count or mine?”
“Mine.”
“Terrible news.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes stay closed. “Wake me in twenty breaths.”
“No.”
One eye opens. “No?”
