Aisella's gaze sharpened, her eyes cutting through the Avatar's composed exterior like a surgical scalpel. The professional calm she maintained was a thin veil over a growing, clinical frustration.
"You could have told me that at the start of the expedition," she said, her voice tight with the weight of wasted effort. "I have spent weeks calibrating restoration workings for you based on standard reserve models."
"I have been treating you like a man who depletes a finite well, not a man who is part of the well itself."
"The distinction was not operationally relevant until this morning," the Avatar replied.
His voice was a masterpiece of logical detachment, providing an answer that was technically correct but emotionally hollow.
"It is operationally relevant every time I am trying to assess whether you are about to collapse into a heap of broken bone and exhausted spirit!" Aisella snapped.
