"What were you about to say?" Her voice slipped low, a laugh tangled in it, soft and unintended, as if annoyed at itself for betraying her usual sharpness. Why do I sound like this? she thought, the question prickling her chest. Each day in this slot felt stranger, like the stone was reshaping her edges, making her feel things she hadn't planned. It was unsettling, this warmth creeping into her bones, but she didn't stop it. She leaned forward instead, choosing the moment over the doubt.
Mikhailis kept his voice small, careful, like speaking to a sleeping dog he didn't want to wake. "You look tired. Do you want more rest? Rodion and I can go check routes." His words were an offering, not a command, laid between them like a map he trusted her to read. His eyes, awake and steady, watched her face—not to trap her, but to follow her lead. Don't push. Offer. Let her choose, his thoughts seemed to say, a quiet mantra she could almost hear.
