Gela has a fork halfway to her mouth when somebody takes the seat opposite and in lifting her head to say hello, pauses. In a way, she has been waiting for this to happen ever since they returned from Dirthamen, shaken, sore and with each other's secrets, but even anticipation can't stop her heart from racing now.

"Good evening." She won't bother with her fake tone. After a momentary wobble, the fork completes its journey.

He doesn't know a thing... He knows what he saw, but it would have felt unbelievable to him, presented as messily and half-formed as it was at the time. And now, with his memories back, he remembers Gela has no magic.

She says, calm as anything, "How's your leg?"