All the shards we keep stepping on

”Fair enough,” Liam rumbled. It was an endearing trait, really - that Maea didn’t want to annoy or pester by being something that he didn’t want. But how could he ever tire of her? Of the little blush that tinged her cheeks when she was flustered, of the smile that appeared when he’d said something to please her. And oh, how he wanted to please her. That, at least, remained unchanged. Maea’s grip tightened on his hand, and the soldier fought the urge to tug her closer and into his arms so that he could reassure her that this was good. He wasn’t a slave in thrall; he was still himself. He was still here for her. And when she became a Friend of the Family, she would see that it was far better than being their enemy. Everything would be as it should be. ”You don’t have to thank me, Maea,” he said, his own relief that she was willing to consider what he’d said, that she’d been willing to hear him out, a palpable thing on his own earnest face. ”Did you want to leave now? Or do you have more business in Torchline, first?” Liam I am the patron saint of lost causes