I buried my face in Sera's hair. Over the top of her head, I could see the two women on the cliff, watching. The tank's yellow eyes were narrow, assessing. The healer's green eyes were wide, curious.
My hand drifted down Sera's back. Found her thigh. The intact one. Squeezed. Then moved to Lira — finding the stump where her leg ended, feeling the new skin, the rounded shape of it.
'Ah, shit,' I thought, and the thought was not grief. 'It'll be easy to fuck her sideways now. One leg to hold up instead of two.'
But I could not say that. Because I was a monster, yes, but I was a smart monster. A patient monster. The kind of monster that hugged crying women and held them while they thanked him for saving the life he had endangered.
I heard their internal thoughts — the trust, the love, the complete absence of suspicion — and used them. Adjusted my grip. Tightened my hold. Whispered the words they needed to hear:
