::I don’t have a left hand:: says Palamedes, narrowing avoiding making the joke that the closest thing to his hand sits, in skeleton form, on the desk. Despite his skepticism, he does his best to do as she says—he pictures the sword that Camilla is practicing with, he pictures his long-destroyed body, imagines Need’s hand holding his as together they reach out a cover Camilla’s hand with theirs.

He pictures it, and he swears he can almost feel Cam’s hand, warm and strong, under his own.

::Camilla Hect:: he says, and he waits to see what happens.