She looks at him with glassy-eyed shock, tight-lipped. You should roll away from being asked to bear your hurts, but your wounds are something else entirely. Is a syringe not like a lance? Don't they call them lancets?

She's caught off-guard by the correctness of this man's guess, she tells herself. That it feels like he's unzipped her and stuck his hands in her gut is-

Familiar.

"Not the first time," she says.