“Do not become accustomed to it.”
“Too late. I’m writing it in my diary.”
I sit on the edge of the low table across from her because the chair would put me too far away and the sofa would likely breakunder both of us. I wet a sterile cloth and lift it toward her face. My hand stills before touching her.
She watches me. “I’m not scared of you.”
“You should be.”
“I’m scared of what you did in the alley.” Her honesty lands hard, but she keeps going before I can retreat behind it. “Not because you did it to them. Because I’ve never seen anyone move like that. You were terrifying.”
“I know.”
“But you were careful with me.”
The cloth remains suspended between us. “That does not erase the rest.”
“No. It doesn’t.” Her voice is quiet now, stripped of jokes by exhaustion. “But the rest saved me.”
I clean the blood from her mouth with the least pressure I can manage. Her skin is warm beneath the cloth. Too soft. Too easily damaged. The swelling along her cheek darkens with each minute, and something ugly twists inside me.
“They struck you because I warned them last night,” I say.
“They struck me because they’re violent little parasites.”
“They called you mine.”
Her eyes flicker.
I continue before I can stop myself. “One said they would teach Kauss’s pet a lesson.”
Her lips part, then close. “I’m not anyone’s pet.”
“I know.”
“I’m also not yours.”
“I know.”
The words should be simple. They are not. Something in my chest rejects them even as honor accepts them. She belongs to herself. That is truth. That should be enough.
I wipe rainwater and blood from her jaw.
She studies my face. “You’re angry because they connected me to you.”
“I am angry because they touched you.”
Her breath catches slightly.
I look down at the cloth. “I am also angry because they may have touched you to provoke me. If so, my presence near your bakery puts you in danger.”
“That is not how blame works.”
“It is often how consequences work.”
“Kauss.”
I stand too quickly. The table creaks under the shift of my weight. “I should go once your friend arrives.”
