Ever would still be catching up, mentally filing and re-filing the triage rhythm he’d just walked back into, when Isla appears. He stands a little straighter when she looks at him, as though bracing for another task, but her words slot neatly into a category his brain has prepared for: reporting back, offering gratitude, summarising outcomes. He can handle that.
His hands flex once at his sides before he exhales softly. "Groceries can be replaced," he says matter-of-factly, though his tone is softer when he adds, "Those two lives might not have been. It was the right trade." A small, almost mechanical nod punctuates the statement, but his gaze lingers on the faint red spattered against her shirt, his lips pulling down in a slight frown.
"Flooded tunnels suggest structural instability...Collapsed passages, or displaced currents." He’s aware he’s beginning to ramble, but his brain has already spun up scenarios, half-formed hypotheses tumbling out, because it was odd wasn't it? For all of Torchline's darker side, there was order to it. Fights just didn't break out like this, not when the heirarchy of who could do what and where and when in the Fingers had been long established.
Abruptly, he stops himself, clearing his throat and shifting the weight of his shoulders as if to file the tangent away for later. His eyes flick back to Isla, softer again. "Tell me what you need now. More water? Clean linens? I can go—?"
His hands flex once at his sides before he exhales softly. "Groceries can be replaced," he says matter-of-factly, though his tone is softer when he adds, "Those two lives might not have been. It was the right trade." A small, almost mechanical nod punctuates the statement, but his gaze lingers on the faint red spattered against her shirt, his lips pulling down in a slight frown.
"Flooded tunnels suggest structural instability...Collapsed passages, or displaced currents." He’s aware he’s beginning to ramble, but his brain has already spun up scenarios, half-formed hypotheses tumbling out, because it was odd wasn't it? For all of Torchline's darker side, there was order to it. Fights just didn't break out like this, not when the heirarchy of who could do what and where and when in the Fingers had been long established.
Abruptly, he stops himself, clearing his throat and shifting the weight of his shoulders as if to file the tangent away for later. His eyes flick back to Isla, softer again. "Tell me what you need now. More water? Clean linens? I can go—?"
I will not be brave
but i'm grateful to get through
but i'm grateful to get through
