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I stare. "That explains several things."

"No."

"Yes."

His head rests back against the wall. For the first time, he looks truly exhausted. Not broken. Not weak.

Just twenty-something. Human. Mostly. Whatever.

Someone carrying too much.

"You know you can stop sometimes." I say.

"No."

"That's not healthy."

"Useful."

I roll my eyes. "Vayne is right about you."

"Rarely."

"Often."

"No."

I look at the practice blades. Then him. "Do people ever take care of you?" The question leaves before I can stop it.

Rhyven's expression changes. Almost imperceptibly. I immediately regret the phrasing. Too direct. Too personal.

"I take care of myself." Of course.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know." Silence. Fine. Don't push.

I lean back. "Coffee was good, though."

His eyes shift toward me. "Yes."

"You're welcome."

"Didn't say thank you."

"You did earlier."

"Then why are you asking."

"I'm not."

He shakes his head. The clock reads twenty-one forty-eight. We have been sitting here almost twenty minutes. No training. No fighting. No emergency. Strange. Nice. Rhyven stands first. Offers his hand.

I look at it. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"Bossy."