[Ostensibly, they’re up here because they’re meant to be watching the merchant down on the street. Liem can see their stall out of the corner of his eye when he looks at Matt, so he’s not entirely neglecting their task—but his attention is focused on the man next to him. He doesn’t have the emotional capacity right now to both talk about Matt’s hand and plan for the capture and execution of the vendor below. So he picks the one that seems more important to him.]

I’m sorry.

[The flask sits in his left hand as his right rests on the stock of the crossbow he’s set down beside him. Symmetrical. Whole.]

I had a lot of chronic pain when I was younger. Not the same, of course, but I know how distracting that can be.

[Distracting is perhaps an understatement. A fly buzzing around your head while you try to work is distracting. For pain that wakes you up from a dead sleep, that commands every scrap of your attention in miserable crystal clarity… perhaps disabling is a better word. He’s glad to have left those years of his life behind him.

He lifts the flask deliberately and takes another measured drink.]

How long has it been?