Adam's crimson eyes studied Isolde's pale face, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands. She was exhausted more than she was letting on.
"Are you sure you're okay?" His voice was quiet, but there was an edge of concern beneath it. "You look like you're about to fall over."
Isolde's jaw tightened. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, as if trying to hide the weariness in her frame.
"I'm fine. Just... a little low on blood." She glanced at him, then quickly away. "I can't ask you for more. You're still injured."
Adam shrugged, but there was no nonchalance in it. Every inch of the movement was stiff, pained, the cost of a body still knitting itself back together.
"It's fine. The poison's still in your system anyway." He said it simply, as if stating the obvious. "You need my blood regularly to keep it dormant. That hasn't changed."
Isolde's pale eyes flickered back to him, something complicated passing through her gaze.
