He won't lie to her. Comfort is still a fair, fine line from false hope, and he won't say they'll take her home now, or that they can escape as soon as they pull her free. They cannot, and he won't.
But he can keep his hand on her hair, and keep her eyes on his. "I'll take you home soon, Sinthia. Back to the ship. We'll find our way out, and they'll come for us --"
The words drop off like pebbles over a cliffside, and his fingers stiffen, but do not leave her hair. "Sinthia? Are you doing that?"
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He won't lie to her. Comfort is still a fair, fine line from false hope, and he won't say they'll take her home now, or that they can escape as soon as they pull her free. They cannot, and he won't.
But he can keep his hand on her hair, and keep her eyes on his. "I'll take you home soon, Sinthia. Back to the ship. We'll find our way out, and they'll come for us --"
The words drop off like pebbles over a cliffside, and his fingers stiffen, but do not leave her hair. "Sinthia? Are you doing that?"