Still, Hal said nothing.

A bad mood, she noted. Or maybe she’d grown far too comfortable teasing the Reaper of Vesria.

She slipped her arm around his waist and winced as he transferred some of his weight to her. He was surprisingly heavy, despite the time away from training. With every step, lean muscle rippled under her touch—a sensation she desperately tried to ignore.

“How far do you intend to take me?” he asked, his voice calculatedly casual.

A fair question. Hal’s company was, if nothing else, an excellent cover for snooping. Since Wren had found those anatomical sketches hidden in the morning room’s writing desk, she hadn’t found another chance to look at them.

“More than five steps and fewer than five miles.” At his despondent look, she added, “You know, if you were doing this every day as you should, it wouldn’t be so onerous. For today, we’ll go to the morning room.”

“Very well.” Although his voice remained affectless, his face was the most expressive she’d seen it. Frustrated. She supposed it would be humbling. In his prime, he was an elite soldier. Now, he was barely able to stand without aid from a girl meant to be his enemy.

They made it down the hallway, where the last of the light dragged its nails against the floorboards. His breaths already came thick and labored by the time they stopped at the top of the grand staircase. Sheer exhaustion dulled his eyes to gray.

“We’ll take it slow,” she said. “One step at a time, alright?”

“I can walk on my own.”

This again? Wren thought he’d overcome the worst of his ego already. “Can you really? Frankly, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“I don’t need you to coddle me.” Hal lifted her arm from around him and clung to the banister with a white-knuckled grip.

Wren bristled. She could have easily yanked him back to her side, or scolded him for being stubborn. But something else possessed her, rooted her in place as she watched him hobble downstairs, step by agonizing step. If he fell, she told herself she would take pleasure in it—that he’d deserve it. But through that goddessdamned tether, she sensed his struggle. His heart raced with exertion, pulling hers along with it. It nauseated her, filled her with a light-headed anxiety that deepened every time he faltered. Wren tailed him like a forlorn hound.