My breath catches and I hate that too. I hate so much around him that there should be less room for fear. He reaches for the larger portion and pushes it back to the center. Not toward me. Not toward himself. Center. Neutral ground. Smart. And really, really annoying.
“We divide again,” he says.
“We do not have time for your feelings.”
“These are not feelings.”
“They look heavy enough to be feelings.”
“They are facts,” he says.
“Your facts are bossy,” I say.
“Your math is dishonest.”
His face is still. Too still. Controlled the way stone goes still before it splits.
“My math kept people alive.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t get to insult it.”
“I insult the lie inside it,” he says.
The shade feels smaller around us. Outside, the basin floor shimmers brighter. First heat thickens. The second sun is not visible yet, but I can feel its promise in the air.
We should eat. Move. Reach the next shade. Find something useful.
Instead, I am crouched under a stone ledge arguing with a Zmaj about whether hunger counts as service.
“What lie?” I ask.
“That you do not count.”
I look away too fast. His silence changes.
“I count,” I say.
“Yes. When there is work to assign.”
My jaw locks and he waits. He shouldn’t wait. Waiting gives me space to feel things I’m trying to starve. I reach for the food.
“Fine.”
He doesn’t relax. I take the larger portion and break it down the middle. Equal pieces. Almost. I shave a little from mine with my thumbnail and add it to his. His eyes narrow.
“What?” I ask.
“That was not equal.”
“You have excellent vision. Congratulations.”
“Sera.”
“You’re bigger.”
“We already argued that,” he says.
