The touch is unexpected, non-utilitarian, and it startles her; she jolts a little, the movement pulling her away from his fingers. Unfortunately before she realizes that small bit of reassuring contact, that little bit of warmth . . . feels good.

And then there's no way to go back, even with only a bare inch of space between them. She finds herself wanting him to reach out again . . . but also knows he won't.

Maybe it's because of that touch, though, and the quieting concern in his voice that allows her to open.

"My gem is cracked." She draws her arms close, tucks them against her. "It has to be that. I can't . . . I'm missing powers. Things I should be able to do."

And there's no real way to fix a cracked gem, is there? Not here on Earth. How she can fulfill this part of this bargain may be limited at best.

Maybe she can't at all.