Neither of them moved for a long time.
The infirmary light buzzed overhead like it was about to burn out. Doctor had already left. Vincent's thumb hovered right at the edge of her stitches — close enough that she could feel the heat of it, but he wouldn't touch. Like he was scared if he pulled his hand away she'd start bleeding again right there on the table. Dried blood on her forearms had gone stiff and itchy, cracking every time she breathed. Her wrapped ankle throbbed in time with her pulse. The bandage on her palm pulled tight whenever she flexed her fingers even a little.
None of it mattered.
What mattered was the way he looked at her. Eyes dark, jaw locked, like a man who'd already run the worst calculation a hundred times and still couldn't believe the answer came back alive.
"Come with me," he said. Low. Not a command. Just the stripped-down version of his voice when the armor was gone and he didn't bother reaching for it anymore.
