So I Was Minding My Own Business...

Oh, you’re one of those, huh? Calista eyed the potion like it was a particularly smug noble at a dinner party. Standard kit, my ass. You just don’t want me slowing you down.

Still, she snatched it from his hand before he could rescind the offer, uncorking it with her teeth and downing it in one gulp. The taste was predictably awful. She gagged, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then mock-gasped. Oh, Maker’s balls, is that elfroot? Fancy. What’s next, you gonna offer me a silk handkerchief and a pat on the head?

She rolled her shoulder experimentally, already feeling the warmth of the potion knitting the worst of the wound together. Damn it. She hated when they actually worked.

At his question, she cast a glance toward the trees, where the kids had disappeared into the underbrush. Escaped? Mostly. A few taken from the roads, their parents probably dead. Or worse. Her voice dropped into something softer, something that didn’t quite match her usual sharp-edged bravado. They’re heading for Arlathan. Or at least, they will be, if I can get them there in one piece.

The weight of his gaze made her shift, uncomfortable. It wasn’t often people looked at her like that—like they saw right through the cracks in her armor. She smirked, trying to shake it off. You ask a lot of questions for someone who claims not to be interested.

She fell into step beside him, boots crunching over dead leaves and bloodied dirt. The mare snorted at her as they walked, as if judging her existence. She narrowed her eyes at it. You’re lucky I don’t eat horse, you judgy bastard.

But Cassian’s next words pulled her focus back.

How many have I helped?

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. What, you keeping a ledger? I don’t know. A few. A dozen, maybe. Enough to piss off the wrong people. Her fingers twitched at her sides, like they ached for the comfort of her daggers. Not enough to make a real difference.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, unable to resist, she quirked a brow. And you? You look like the sort who’s been around the block a few times. How many have you saved, Cassian Maxwell? Or are you more the body count type?

Her grin was sharp, but there was something else beneath it. A curiosity. Maybe even a little hope.

@Cassian Maxwell