There’s a great deal left unspoken in those words. Leah finishes her sutures, tying the last off. Pain, she’s found, is inevitable. You learn to take things, to square your shoulders and endure the great unfairness of them. It’s a lesson she’s been obliged to learn many times over her life, and why she’s been so careful to carve out space for herself. This small cabin, her curtains, the rugs on the floor. A proper home.

She begins cleaning the blood off Pope’s chest, in the meantime. Maybe he’s too distracted to flinch from her.

“I’ll stay with him,” she murmurs. “Or I’ll call one of others.”

She knows that there’s no one who Pope could call to stay with him; they are all of them alone, except for each other. “Can you stand for a shower, or do you want to sleep?”