Her eyes drop to my shoulder.
I watch her get there.
"...no."
"Kestria."
"No, no, Mel, no—" She's standing up off the bench. "He didn't. Tell me he didn't."
"Kestria—"
"Show me your shoulder."
"Kestria—"
"Show me your shoulder, Mel."
I tug my collar down.
Her face goes still.
The wrapping is clean. I did it myself in the dark.
Kestria looks. Her mouth tightens.
"It's set well." Her voice is careful. "It's deep, Mel."
"I know it's deep."
"Did he—" She stops. Tries again. "Did he ask? Before."
"No. He didn't plan it."
“I’m going to kill him—”
I shrug my shirt back into place. "He said the wolf reached me before he did. But he would have."
"He told you that?"
"Yeah."
She lets out a long breath. Looks at her hands.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." She picks up a handful of petals. Sorts—purple-edged in one pile, white in the other. "I'm processing. Out loud, mostly. Just not at you yet."
I laugh. I swipe my face with my forearm because both my hands are full of crushed flower.
"Left at dawn. I don't know where. Pack duty, I think. He left water on the ledge for me, which is stupidly tender by the way, he made sure there was water before he left."
"Ugh. Are you two going to be one of those gross, lovey couples now."
"Have youmetyour brother?"
"Mel. He left you water."
