Distrust locks him back against his pillow under her touch -- even with care taken, his bracing intake of breath is sharper and the lines around his mouth are grim.

He’s fretting for nothing.

The healing starts and held tension ebbs, let off by degrees once he’s certain the shock to raw nerves is likely to be minimal. The pull of light and shadow underhand is of interest to him. It gives him something to focus on that isn’t the chill in the air, the vulnerability of exposure, the sight of his own tortured flesh.

He’d been curious about Fitcher’s burns.

He covers his own with greater care than he revealed them once Derrica has drawn back, avoiding any flop or friction. Also wasting no time. She’s correct in assuming he’d rather be covered.

“Thank you.”