You look… tired,” he said instead, studying me more closely.
“I am tired,” I said. “Of being glared at. Of being lectured. Writing letters to people who send me feathers in return.”
The words almost slipped into a confession.
I bit my tongue just in time.
His eyes narrowed.
“You have a headache?” he asked. “Dizziness? Any sign the curse touched you when you were at the ridge?”
Always back to that.
“No,” I said. “Just thoughts.”
“Those can be worse,” he muttered.
He stepped closer, close enough to touch if either of us reached.
He didn’t.
His gaze dipped to my hands anyway.
They were steady now.
A minor miracle.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said abruptly.
That startled me.
“For what?” I asked.
“For… earlier,” he said. “For shouting. For… trapping you against the desk like th
