“Tipp said I should come by and get my stitches taken out.” Jaren scratched his jaw and admitted, “He said ten days, so I’m a day overdue, but yesterday was long and I fell asleep right after dinner.”

He kept all emotion from his voice, an indication that he wasn’t seeking pity or compassion, so Kiva offered neither.

“Have a seat,” she told him, before collecting what she needed from the worktable.

Jaren groaned slightly as he eased himself onto the nearest metal bench, and while Kiva showed no outward reaction, she winced internally, aware of just how hard the tunnelers were made to work. She was surprised Jaren hadn’t come to see her before now to stock up on painkillers and anti-inflammatories. At the very least, a muscle relaxant would have helped, especially during his first few days as he acclimatized to the labor.

“Any problems I should know about?” Kiva asked as she approached. “Itching, swelling, redness?”

Jaren looked amused. “Shouldn’t you have checked in before now to ask about all that?”

“I’m not your mother,” Kiva said. “You’re responsible for your own health in here.”

“There’s that bedside manner again,” Jaren said under his breath.

Kiva acted like she didn’t hear and reached for his left hand. His skin was filthy, highlighting that he’d come straight from the tunnels after his shift had ended. Dirt and grime covered him from head to toe, almost as much as when he’d first arrived at Zalindov, though without the addition of blood this time.

“This has healed well,” Kiva said, inspecting the carved symbol. It had scabbed over, one of the slashed lines already having peeled away to reveal a fresh pink scar beneath.

She turned his hand so that his palm faced upward, grimacing when she saw the bloodied blisters and broken calluses.

“Nice, huh?” Jaren said. “Some of the guards think we’re slacking off underground, so at least these offer irrevocable proof that I’m working.” He wiggled his fingers.

Kiva stopped his movement by trailing a sponge of salty water over his hand, prompting him to curse quietly at the sting.

“You need to keep these clean, or they’ll get infected,” she told him, mercilessly scrubbing away the dirt.

“You know as well as I do how impossible that is,” he returned.

Kiva didn’t argue.

Once she was done cleaning both his hands and slathering them in ballico sap, she said, “Take off your shirt and lie down.”

“I’m flattered, but we barely know each other.”

Kiva’s gaze jerked up to his face. His features may have been smeared with dust and lined with exhaustion, but his blue-gold eyes were dancing.

She leaned in close and hissed, “You can take this seriously, or you can leave.” She pointed to the door. “I’m sure Tipp will be happy to remove your stitches back in the cell block.”