Hana grinned at her son and sipped her drink, studying him from beneath her eyelashes. He looked deflated and a familiar tick of worry began in the back of her head. She tried to respect his privacy, maternalism wanting to probe and comfort. “I needed you here,” she whispered, sighing out her own concerns as dust particles bounced in the light. “I didn’t know it though.” Her fingers stroked his wrist through his jacket sleeve and she saw him wince. “Are you hurt?” she asked, the question tentative.
Bodie nodded and laid his glass on the floor. Then he rolled up his sleeve. Thin gouges covered the flesh of his forearm, deeper in some places than others. It wrapped around his arm and she recognised the marks. “Barbed wire?” Hana asked, reaching out her fingers and pulling away at the last m
