[Paul knows how little of Anna is still human. She told him herself. But the hand that clasps his is warm, the intent that moves her to squeeze their fingers together warmer still. He almost didn't expect her to take it. He barely knows why the impulse moved him to reach out. Everything balances on a grass-blade's width, twisting slightly in a chance breeze, and there is the faintest tracery of surprise around his eyes at all of it.]

I think you're better at figuring people out than you think you are.

[He looks at her like he's watching a something open, a bud or a shell, drawing slowly back to reveal the first hint of the delicate thing it protects.]

Maybe the gods, too. [He brushes his thumb along the outer curve of her hand, a light, companionable touch.] As for what I'm looking for - I think your song writing friend might say that finding other things is part of the unfolding.

[Now it's his turn again to glance away, voice softer, wistfulness not quite filtered out of it:] I don't think that's stupid. It got you this far, didn't it? Despite everything else, you're here, head above the waves.

...and I'm apologizing because... [His brow furrows lightly, troubled, someone on the cusp of an understanding.] Someone should.