"No." The word comes out steady. "He didn't hurt me."
She searches my face for a long time. Then her shoulders drop.
"Okay." She picks up the cloth again. Moves to my arms. "Okay."
Quiet settles. Just the cloth and the water and her careful hands.
After a moment she reaches over and straightens the collar. Folds it flat against my shoulder instead of half-off. Doesn't ask. Doesn't explain why she's doing it.
"He doesn't give things." Low. Not quite to me. "Ever."
I look at the basket.
"Kestria—"
"I know." She picks up the cloth again. "I know."
"You're still going to dye things, aren't you?"
A laugh gets out. "What?"
"The flowers." She nods at the basket near my feet. "They're mostly ruined. But you keep looking at them. You're already sorting them in your head."
"The purple ones survived. Some of the blue."
"So that's a yes."
"That's a yes."
She finishes with my arms and sits back.
"You don't have to fix anything right now, Mel. You can just—sit. Five minutes."
"I don't know how to do that."
"I know." She squeezes my hand. Warm and solid. "I know you don't."
I stand up. Pick up the basket.
"I'll be in my dwelling. Come get me if anyone needs the healing area."
"Mel—"
"I'm fine, Kestria."
She doesn't believe me.
Neither do I.
Nugget is inside, pecking at the corner near the wall, aggressively pink against all the brown. I sink onto the floor next to her and put the basket in my lap.
I should take the shirt off.
I should fold it and bring it back and hand it to him—whenever he comes back from wherever furious alphas go—and not say anything.
Just:here. Your shirt.
Very normal. Practical reasons. Temperature. Not because it's warm and it smells like him and if I take it off, my skin is going to notice and then I'm going to have to think about why my skin noticed and I'm not doing that. I'm sorting flowers.
