There's only so much that can be gleaned from a person's back when they're suffering. (It'll pass, I'm fine.) But in the subtle straightening, in the wince, the slosh of bloody water and the stillness of the room, there's an emptiness they've all felt and know the ache of. The hollowed-out scrape of something against their insides.

Madi approaches, slowly, fetching up a severed cord and following it to its end. She would rush to John, and has, but this is a new aspect to their arrangement that she agreed to, and won't be on the periphery of it while John supports Flint alone.

Her hand finds his shoulder, settling lightly at first, then tightening enough to be an anchor. An echo of his hand on her leg.