Elowen's POV
The cold expression in his eyes shifted and he didn't say a word.
He looked at the gun on the table where he had put it and and then at me, and his face was back to the silent stone.
Then, without any rush or drama, he reached for it removed the magazine, set both pieces down on the table, and turned back to me.
He took my hand and turned it palm up. I hadn't noticed until then. The recoil had torn the skin across my palm, a raw red strip from the base of my thumb, still bleeding slightly.
He went to the cabinet without a word and came back with the first aid kit. He sat down and cleaned the wound carefully, the same steady focus he brought to everything, and I stood there and let him because I didn't have anything left to fight with.
When he was done he pressed a strip
