Her voice.
Down to almost nothing. The post-voice quality of sounds produced by a body that had used most of its available reserves on the last minute and was now operating on residuals.
His thumb still. Moving.
'"Nnngh—"'
The small, thin, barely-there quality of the sound. The sound of a body with very little left.
His eyes on her.
The attending, specifically-watching quality of it — not absent, the present, informational, I-see-exactly-what-is-happening quality of someone who was watching a woman arrive at a conclusion and observing the architecture of its arrival.
The system window.
He felt it before he saw it.
The purple edge of the notification arriving in his peripheral vision — the system confirming what was already visible in the language of numbers and percentages:
'[ Meera — Loyalty Transfer: 79% → MARK THRESHOLD MET ]'
'[ Soul-bind: PHASE ONE COMPLETE ]'
He dismissed it.
One finger.
He looked at her.
'"Yes,"' she said.
He blinked.
