He did not lean in. He did not comment. He simply stayed, solid and certain at her side, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, verifying what he needed to verify: the movement of her throat as she swallowed, the faint color beginning to creep back into her cheeks, the steadiness of her grip on the spoon.
The room wrapped itself around them quietly.
Outside its walls, the hunt continued, the traitor still moving through Nightshade's corridors, the territory holding its breath. None of that had stopped.
In here, there was a woman with a spoon.
There was a man keeping watch.
And a silent, wordless understanding between them that whatever came next, they would face it from the same side.
Another sip. Then another.
