That’s the question, isn’t it? There are objective measurements. Thresholds of pain, of injury. Leah doesn’t answer for a long moment and Freya pads over, whining and bumping her head against Leah’s hand.

She sighs and pets her dog.

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “I don’t think so. But he wouldn’t let me see, and these aren’t…it’s not the sort of injury you want on your record.”

She meets Wash’s gaze, solemn. “You understand?”