Syris hesitated, then gave a short, quiet laugh.
"…Fine."
She moved onto the bed, careful but unceremonious, as if she were used to ignoring what her body protested.
Yura remained beside her, close enough to be present, distant enough to respect the boundary she had drawn.
For a moment, Syris lay there in silence.
Then she lifted her hand.
"…Then give me your hand," she said quietly, still not looking at her. "Just your hand."
Yura blinked, surprised.
"That's all?" she asked.
Syris nodded faintly. "If someone walks in, you can pull away. It won't look strange."
Yura understood immediately and that understanding settled heavily in her chest.
She extended her hand.
And Syris took it without hesitation, fingers closing around hers as if afraid the opportunity might vanish. Her grip was warm, trembling slightly, betraying more fear than she would ever admit aloud.
"Close your eyes," Yura said gently. "Try to sleep."
Syris obeyed.
