After a moment, Eight smiled gently and dropped his hand. "He's called," he said, then worked off his boots and crawled onto the bed to lay next to her. It was hard to tell where it would be alright to touch her, but he lay near, petting her hair as gently as he could.

Every time he looked at her, the cold lump of pain in his stomach melted away as it turned into a burning ember of rage. "Tell me...who did this to you? Did you get a good look at them. I'll--"

He went silent, clenching his jaw. She didn't need to know what he'd do. She didn't need to have her view of him tainted by the violence he dearly wanted to wreak on whoever did this to her.