Selendra looked at his offered hand.
For the first time that night, she did not answer at once. Her eyes dropped to his palm, his wrist, the pulse under the skin. The warded quiet held around them, but the air had changed. What had been a conversation was now a threshold.
"Do not pull away," she said.
"I gave you permission. I did not give you my trust, and I would rather you knew the difference before your teeth do."
"I did not ask for your trust."
That answer suited her, in a way few of her others had.
He kept his hand raised, fingers steady, his arm drawn tight. She closed the last step between them, near enough that a scent of cold flowers and iron reached him, and took his wrist in both cool hands. The chill of her grip sank past the skin at once.
"Look at me," she said.
"And why would I do that."
"Because some of what comes next will pull at you, and you will want a fixed point to hold. Use my eyes for it."
He did not care for the answer. He obeyed it anyway.
