Bandages and Broth

The first thing Jinx registered was the smell: antiseptic, old wood, and something warm and savory. The second thing was the restraint across her chest. She jerked, a snarl already forming on her lips, but the leather strap held firm. Her wrists were bound to the bedframe with soft cloth, not rope—a kindness she didn't trust. "Easy." Ekko's voice cut through the panic. He sat on a stool by the window, backlit by the soft, green glow of the Firelights' luminescent trees. In his hands, two steam-curling bowls. He looked tired, the kind of tired that etched itself into bone. "Let me go," she rasped, her throat raw. Shrapnel memory. Screaming. Glass. "I'll blow this whole treehouse apart." "You won't," he said, his voice flat, heavy. "You're too weak. And I need you to eat first." She laughed, a jagged, broken sound. "Poison me, then." "If I wanted you dead, I'd have left you in the rubble." He set one bowl on the bedside table. It was simple—a broth with chunks of root vegetable and something that might have been meat. Steam carried a scent of salt and thyme. Her stomach betrayed her with a hollow, hungry ache. "I don't need your charity," she spat. "It's not charity. It's a deal." He picked up the other bowl for himself, spoon clinking against ceramic. "You eat. You rest. We talk. And when you're strong enough, you don't try to kill anyone in my home." She stared at him, violet eyes searching for the trick. Ekko stared back, unwavering. He'd always been like that—a wall she couldn't dent. She remembered a treehouse, but smaller. Stolen cookies and a promise to build a hot air balloon. Her chest tightened. "I don't want to talk," she said, quieter now, the venom draining. "That's fine." He took a long sip of his soup, not breaking eye contact. "Then we sit. That's part of the deal too." Silence stretched. The glow of the trees pulsed like a heartbeat. Jinx lay still, feeling the rough bandage wrapped around her ribs, the ache in her skull. She was a bomb that hadn't gone off yet. "You think I'm still in there," she said finally. "Powder. You think you can fish her out." Ekko's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down. "I think I can't bring back what I don't believe is gone." For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, she turned her head toward the bowl of soup. Her fingers twitched. The bindings allowed just enough slack to reach. She didn't touch the spoon. She picked up the bowl with both hands, brought it to her lips, and drank. The broth was hot, earthy, and it burned going down. She didn't care. Ekko watched her, something unreadable in his eyes. He didn't smile. He just turned back to his own bowl, and they drank their soup in silence, the ghosts of the past breathing between them.