Liam's hand moved before his brain issued the instruction.
His thumb traced a slow, steady path across Elizabeth's cheekbone, wiping away the blood that had landed there from the last Naga kill, the gesture as automatic and certain as the way he checked the temperature of a pan before committing to the heat. His eyes stayed forward, tracking the horde, his hand acting entirely independently of the part of him that was supposed to be running tactical calculations.
Elizabeth froze for a fraction of a second, which was long enough for a Naga to lunge at her from the right, which she dispatched with a movement so practised it barely registered as effort, her body running on muscle memory while her eyes stayed on his face and did something complicated that he did not look at because he was looking at the horde.
"You had blood on your face," Liam said.
"I know I had blood on my face," Elizabeth said. "We're in a fight."
"It was bothering me."
"It was bothering YOU."
"Yeah."
