Tristan
My word was final, but I kept my tone calm, even. Not a command that crushed, but one that left no space for doubt.
She stiffened, her hands twisting in her lap. She didn't argue, though I could feel the resistance burning in her chest. She was too tired to fight me. I saw it in the way her shoulders sagged, in the way her eyes lingered on the floor instead of on me.
I stepped closer, letting the firelight show me more clearly what she tried to hide. Her hands. Red, raw at the joints, the skin rubbed sore from the work Kyle had set on her. Her nails carried faint marks, as if she had gripped too tightly for too long.
The sight pressed something sharp into my chest. She had done everything asked of her and more. And no one had spared her a second glance.
"You're tired," I said quietly. The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Her head tilted slightly, as if she hadn't expected me to notice. She didn't answer, just sat there, bracing herself for more orders.
