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Dreven crouched several feet away.

His proximity made the shelter feel smaller.

Kesta ignored that and tested a drop of medication against Lina’s skin before administering the dose. When no reaction followed, she finished the injection and checked her breathing.

“She needs fluids,” Dreven said.

Kesta glanced up.

He was holding a water flask.

“I know.”

“I thought medics appreciated assistance.”

“We appreciate people who wait until we ask.”

His eyebrows rose. “Do you require water?”

She opened her mouth, then stopped.

Her tongue felt thick, and the split in her lip had dried painfully during the march.

Dreven noticed her hesitation. The faintest hint of satisfaction appeared around his eyes.

Kesta scowled at him.

He held out the flask. “I will try not to be unbearable about being correct.”

“You are already failing.”

“That quickly?”

She took the flask.

His fingers withdrew before hers closed around it, making sure they did not touch. Kesta noticed that too.

She drank only enough to wet her mouth before passing the flask to Lina. Dreven watched her do it, his expression tightening.

“That was yours.”

“She needs it more.”

“You have given her water three times.”

“She has lost blood.”

“So have you.”

Kesta touched her split lip. “Hardly catastrophic.”

His gaze dropped to the bruising along her cheek, then to the dried blood at the edge of her mouth. Something cold moved through his expression before he looked away.

“You make a habit of deciding your injuries do not matter?”

The question landed closer to something private than she expected.

Kesta capped the flask. “Occupational hazard.”