Ingrivid was the first to move when she realized Damon could already support his own weight, albeit partially. She didn't say anything immediately—she simply leaned over, firmly and precisely placing one of his arms over her own shoulder, lifting him with a controlled movement, without room for hesitation or dramatization. The gesture was practical, almost military, but there was an implicit care, a silent attention to his still unstable state.
Damon let out a small sigh as he was pulled up, his body still heavy, as if each muscle were being readjusted after being hastily disassembled and rebuilt. He supported part of his weight on her, not by choice, but out of momentary necessity, his eyes half-closed as he allowed himself to regain his balance.
"Slowly, genius," Ingrivid murmured, in her usual dry tone, adjusting his posture until he was minimally stable. "He's not quite back to normal yet."
Damon let out a soft, still hoarse, laugh through his nose.
