Page 31 of The Thief's Mark

Griff stared at him, unsure what to make of the abrupt shift in attitude. His aura was no help—it was still a churning mess.

“Some water would be nice,” he said with a dry cough.

Nodding, Cal hurried across the room. Griff stared after him with a frown. What the Void had gotten into him?

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he called.

There was no response.

Cal returned a few moments later, offering him a clay cup filled with lukewarm water. Griff downed it in a few quick gulps. Despite being warm and tasting stale, it was still refreshing.

He smiled at Cal. “Thank you.” He held up the empty cup, then gestured carefully at his wounded side caked in the poultice. “For the water, and for everything else. Without you, I’m not sure I’d have survived.”

Cal blinked at him. Griff could read his indecision, both on his face and in the flickering cast of his aura.

Abruptly, Cal turned and darted for the door. “I’m going to go get some fresh air and grab us some food. I don’t come here all that often, so there’s not much in the way of supplies. I’ll be back in a bit. Try not to get shot again while I’m gone.”

Before Griff could reply, Cal had already fled out the door, slamming it behind him.