Page 89 of Thexan

It was no longer necessity or repair driving my awareness, but her.

“The child’s question altered the others’ response,” I said.

Brynn glanced up briefly. “Children do that. They say what everyone else is thinking, and then everyone has to decide whether to be embarrassed or relieved.”

“He did not fear me.”

“No,” she said, returning her attention to the bandage. “He was curious.”

“That was preferable.”

“It was.”

Her fingers paused against my side, and though the pressure remained gentle, the stillness indicated a shift in her thoughts.

“You kneeling helped,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if you realized that.”

“I did.”

“Of course you did.”

“I reduced perceived threat by altering height and posture.”

She gave a soft breath that carried the shape of amusement. “You made yourself less frightening to a child.”

“That is another way to state it.”

“It’s the way most people would state it.”

I considered that while she removed the last layer of binding. The wound had remained secure. There was no active bleeding, and the surrounding tissue showed measurable improvement. She saw the same evidence and relaxed slightly, though she continued her examination as if she expected my body to contradict her if given the opportunity.

“I did not want him to fear me,” I said.

Her hands stilled again.

This time, her gaze lifted to mine and remained there.

The statement had emerged without calculation. It was accurate, but more direct than I had intended. I did not retract it. The truth of it had already settled within me.

Brynn’s expression shifted in a way I could not fully categorize, though the bond registered warmth, a subtle softening that moved through her before she spoke.

“That matters to me,” she said.

“I know.”

“No,” she said, not sharply, but with enough emphasis that I understood she wanted the distinction recognized. “I don’t mean strategically. I mean, it matters here.” She touched her chest lightly, then lowered her hand. “It matters because these are my people, and I need to believe you can be part of this life without resenting it.”

I absorbed that carefully, because this was not a tactical concern disguised as emotion. It was a future concern. Her future. Mine, if I remained.

Ours, if the term applied.

“I do not resent it,” I said.

“You barely know it.”

“That is correct.”

“Then how can you know?”