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“That’s gonna scar.” Brían’s voice trembled, but the needle in his hands was surprisingly steady.
Eredin smiled, though it was a good thing Brían wasn’t looking at him; it felt more like a pained grimace, and he didn’t want to add to the unhealthy pallor of Brían’s skin. “That was a given.”
“If you’d let me call –”
“We don’t know who said this trap. Until I know who to trust –” Eredin cut himself off, but it was too late. He’d given too much away.
Brían looked up at him, and the soft smile on his face was worth the discomfort.