"Here," he said gruffly, handing me the items. "She’s going to need this. Don’t want the little mute starving herself."
I gave a nod, moving to place the water and food in front of her. The omega's wary eyes followed every motion, tracking me. She didn’t move yet, but the faintest twitch of her fingers betrayed her interest in the food tray. I could tell she was hungry.
I sat on the bed, and she scrambled away from me.
“It’s okay,” I murmured, holding out the damp cloth. “I’m just going to get you cleaned up a little. You're covered in blood and dirt.”
I reached for her knee, rolling up the bloodstained uniform fabric, pressing the damp cloth gently against it, careful to use as little pressure as possible. Her wound had already begun to scab. Old blood, cracked and flaking, coated it.
A sharp hiss tore from her throat as she recoiled violently, her whole body jerking away from my hand. Even though I barely touched her, she reacted as if I’d burned her.
I froze.
“That shouldn’t hurt,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.
The wound wasn’t fresh. The cloth was cool, and its fabric nonabrasive. I know I hadn’t applied too much pressure. Trying again, I shifted slightly, this time applying the cloth lower, to uninjured skin along her shin.
Her reaction was identical.
Another hiss, as her eyes grew wide and frantic. Her body curled inward, and it seemed as if she were trying to crawl outof her own skin.
I pulled back immediately, my hand hovering in the air.
That’s when it clicked that she wasn't feeling pain from the injury.
It was the physical contact that upset her.
Her breathing had gone shallow now, chest rising too fast, her hands drawn tight to herself like she was bracing for a blow that wasn’t coming. Her gaze flicked to my hand and stayed there, tracking it like a threat.
Touch aversion.
Severe.
“Okay,” I said, pulling back. I held the cloth out to her instead. “Here. I won’t touch you if you do it yourself.”
Silas spoke from behind me, voice flat.
“Food too,” he said bluntly. “If you don’t eat it on your own, we’ll make you.”
Her eyes darted between the cloth and the food before she let out a quiet sigh and yanked the cloth from my hand. She worked methodically, never taking her wary gaze off us as she wiped the blood from her knees and palms.
I catalogued her bruises as she did. They were pressure points. Old injuries layered over newer ones. Places that would hurt her more than the rest. Habit had me noting them automatically.
If we pushed in the right spots, she might talk faster. I may have been an interrogator by trade, but I still did everything I could to expedite the process. I didn’t enjoy it, not in the way my brother did.
When she finished cleaning herself, she reached for thefood tray, then stopped before taking anything. Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face as something clearly crossed her mind.
“It’s just food,” I said evenly. “We wouldn’t poison you. We need answers, remember?"
I picked up the sandwich and took a small bite, just enough to prove no one had tampered with it. I swallowed, then held it out to her.
She snatched it from me, careful not to brush my hand, and tore into it with a frenzy she couldn’t quite rein in. Hunger stripped away any pretense of restraint. Her bites were too large and her chewing too messy.
A vision of two scrawny, orphaned kids tearing into stale bread surfaced. Digging through trash to find a meal. Dirty and hiding out in the slums of Falcon City.
I knew all too well the kind of hunger where manners didn’t stand a chance against need.
“Well, she may not speak, but at least she listens,” Silas said with a scoff. My brother didn’t like it when his instructions went ignored.
