She's crossed the courtyard without me noticing, and she's standing three feet away, looking at my bleeding hands with a healer's automatic assessment.
"You're hurt."
"I'm fine."
"Your hands are—"
"I said I'mfine."
She flinches. Just slightly. Just enough.
And I hate myself for it.
I close my eyes, dragging in air that tastes like ash and rage. The runes are still burning, still demanding violence, and every instinct I have is screaming to chase down the Inquisitor and tear him apart for daring to call her anasset.
But she's standing here. Afraid of me. Because I just snarled at her like a beast.
"I'm sorry." The words scrape out. "I didn't mean—"
"I know." She steps closer, and before I can stop her, she's taken my hand in both of hers, examining the cuts. "Come inside. These need cleaning."
"Annora—"
"Come inside," she repeats, and there's steel under the gentleness. "Please."
I let her lead me.
The infirmary is empty—Garrettmust have cleared it. Smart man.
Annora points to a stool and I sit because arguing seems impossible when she's using that voice. The one that's not quite commanding but brooks absolutely no resistance.
She washes her hands first. Then mine, gentle but thorough, cleaning away the blood and dirt. The cuts are already healing—curse benefit—but she doesn't comment on it. Just works in efficient silence.
"He called you an asset," I finally say.
"I know."
"Like you're a thing. Property."
"I know." She reaches for a jar of salve—something that smells like comfrey and honey. "I've been property before, Vorak. This isn't new."
The casual way she says it makes my chest hurt.
"It should be new." I watch her smooth salve over cuts that are already closing. "You shouldn't have to be used to it."
She pauses, hands stilling on mine.
"What was Article Twelve?" she asks quietly.
"What?"
"Subsection Four. What does it say?"
I want to lie. Want to tell her it's meaningless bureaucratic garbage.
But she's looking at me with those clear green eyes, and I can't.
"It says the Crown retains primary ownership of all blood-marked individuals during temporary custody arrangements." The words taste like poison. "That I haveuseof you forthirty days. After which you revert to Crown control for... reassignment."
