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"Did he train you?"

"Yes."

"Hard?"

"Yes."

"Too hard?"

Rhyven is quiet. "No." I believe him. "He expected a lot." He adds. "But he never confused fear with failure." There. That matters. Maybe that's why Rhyven doesn't either. I don't say any of that.

I just nod. "Sounds like you like him."

Rhyven looks offended again. "Unfortunately." I smile.

I pick up the third dagger. The smallest. One I barely use. Its handle wrap is loosening. I start fixing it. Across the room, Rhyven reaches for another leather strap. Stops. Nothing there. He checks the pile. Then the equipment box. Empty. I know exactly what he needs. Because yesterday I noticed him measuring the old strap against one in supply. And this afternoon, while grabbing replacement wraps for my daggers, I saw the correct size. So I took one. At the time, I told myself someone would need it. Apparently someone is Rhyven.

I reach into my bag. Pull it out. Toss it toward him. He catches it. Looks down. Then at me. "What's this."

"A strap."

"I can see that."

"Excellent. Your education continues." Silence.

Rhyven looks at the leather again. It is the correct length. Correct width. Correct reinforcement. His thumb runs once over the stitching. Then he looks at me. "Why do you have this."

"I stole it." His eyebrow rises. "I'm joking."

"Questionable."

"I saw the old one."

"When."

"Days ago."

"And?"

"And it was dying."

"It was fine."

"It split."

"Eventually."

"Exactly." He stares at the strap. Then me. Something about his expression becomes very still. Not suspicious. Not amused. Almost caught. "I was at supply." I say, suddenly feeling the need to explain. "Mine needed wraps. I saw it. I knew the size. So I grabbed one." Rhyven says nothing. I point toward the harness. "You keep fixing things for everyone else." The words come out before I decide whether I should say them. "Seemed efficient." His eyes meet mine. There. Something unspoken. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

"You don't have to do that." He says. I almost laugh. Again. That sentence. The one we've already destroyed once.

"I know." Rhyven's jaw shifts. No comeback. Good.

I return to my dagger. For several seconds, the only sound is cloth moving over steel.

Then— "Thank you." Quiet. Real.

I look up. "You're welcome." No joke. Not this time.