“In a minute.” I gathered up the length of my torn aura and folded it with my pallium. I was shoving both into my bag when the door opened.

Hosea had cleaned himself and changed clothes. He held up a bucket. “I thought you could use some water,” he explained.

I blinked. “I—yes—thank you.”

He set his offering on a window ledge.

I brushed past him to wash. As I rinsed my hands, I was keenly aware of his gaze.

He relaxed back against the ledge. “How’s your thumb?”

“Excuse—?” My voice squeaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Excuse me?”

“Your thumb, you gouged it in class.”

“Oh, that.” I stared determinedly at the water, scrubbing extra hard. “It’s fine.”

“That’s good. Don’t forget your face,” he added, “you’ve got dirt on your chin.”

I splashed cold water on my warm cheeks.

“You’re missing it—it’s right here.” He leaned forward and lifted his hand.

I jerked back just in time. “I’m—fine,” I whispered.

He crossed his forearms over his broad chest and gave me an odd look.

I scurried to my bag and wiped myself dry, keeping my back to him until he left the hut to empty the dirty water into an alley.

Side by side, we left the village behind, weaving our way through the tangle of streets. We crossed the perimeter and started through the meadow between the village and the Schoolhouse.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” he said, breaking the silence. “You were right, again.”

“Right about what?”

He made a sweeping motion with his arm, clearing a path for me through the high grass. “You were in the sick room tonight, covered in blood, just as I was.”

“Oh, that.” I picked my way around a clump of dirt. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

“But you did it anyway,” he said. “Which is more than most people would do. I was wrong to imply otherwise.” Abruptly, he stopped walking and looked at me.

I stopped beside him. A hot breeze trickled through the grass, tickling my ankles. “You’re staring,” I said.

“Am I?”

I nodded. “You do it a lot.”

He was quiet for a long time. “I’ve traveled all over the Kongo. I meet new people every day,” he said.

“So?”

He stuffed his hands in his rear pockets and hunched his shoulders. “So—they rarely surprise me.”

My breath caught in my chest. My stomach quivered. My face felt hot and my hands were too big. I turned away and hid them in the folds of my skirt. The long finger of my right hand grazed the edge of the black book and I flinched, curling my hand into a fist.

“If you still want to know why I’m here, I’ll tell you,” he said.