Wren swabbed the inside of Hal’s elbow with alcohol and tied the tourniquet around his forearm a fraction too tight. He stared straight out the window while she smacked his arm, encouraging the veins to swell and rise. A dark, admittedly bored part of her enjoyed torturing him. It was so difficult to get a rise out of him, so if the knowledge that an enemy’s magic lived inside him rattled him, she wouldn’t let him forget it.

“You have good veins.” She traced her finger along the thick median cubital vein in his elbow, relishing the way he stiffened with discomfort. “Very stabbable.”

Hal ignored her.

“Get faint with needles?”

“No.” His voice dripped with irritation. Hers, however, was as sickly sweet as an elderberry brew.

“No need to be tough. Just don’t look.” Without further warning, Wren slipped the needle into the crook of his arm. Taunting him would be a slow and petty vengeance.

She filled the vials with his blood, watching the clear tubes run a dark, living red. Tempting as it was to drain him, she took only enough to properly conduct her experiments. After she capped the last of the vials, she removed the needle from his arm and tapped the injection site with one finger. It sealed beneath her touch, leaving only a smear of blood behind. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and gently wiped it away.

Black spotted her vision, catching her off-balance for a moment. She desperately needed to sleep if the effort of healing that small wound had nearly drained her entirely.

“That would have healed on its own.” Wren glanced up at him, surprised by the confusion that tinged his voice. “You’re wasting your energy.”

Wren primly folded the bloodied cloth over her arm. “I’m not. Your immune system is compromised enough as it is.”

In truth, it’d been force of habit, almost ritualistic, to leave no trace. Even now, a world away from Knockaine, she couldn’t dismiss that sneering voice in the back of her mind: If you’re not the best, if you make a mistake, what good are you?

“But you’re exhausted.”

“Hardly.”

“Even without this bond to betray you,” said Hal, “you’re a terrible liar.”

Wren’s face burned with humiliation, even as she willed it into blank composure. “I liked you better when you were less chatty.”

Hal was almost being nice to her, and it made her feel small and childish for her earlier behavior. She doubted he was actually concerned about her—more that he was struggling to understand her. Through the tether, it was easy enough for him to sense her waning energy levels. When she tugged back, she could feel the truth of his condition, too. Sluggish vitals. High cortisol.

He was still in a lot of pain. Of course he hadn’t told her.