Musing to himself as he stands in the steaming water to test his hip and other various no-longer-aching parts, Falke glances at her with raised brows. “That’s a lot to place on someone.” And what he knows of Vi lends the Fixer to think he’s a stoic, from-afar kind of God. Not like the ever-welcoming Mort, though they are soulbound. “An honor and a burden.”
It would be terribly forward to ask within minutes of meeting her how she toes that line, so he shelves that question for now.
He’s happy to switch back to Cian. Shrugging his shoulders, the Fixer means to throw the comment away. “Nothing wrong, exactly. He is a hard man with an immensely difficult job and the actual weight of the world on his shoulders.” Hell, it would probably take a month of massages in the Silk Houses for the Eye to begin to relax all the knots in his shoulders.
“I’m sometimes torn between what I have to do and what I actually think will help people.” But that’s just the nature of being an adult and living in the real world. And in the end, it’s better to having to answer to a God. Another shrug. It is what it is.
