Still worried, she guides him up the two steps to the platform where her bed is, using one hand to draw back the silks so he can sit on the edge of the mattress. When he's settled, she rests her hands on the lapels of his coat.

"Kronole? Is that a drink?"

Gentle hands urge his coat off, and he can feel the longing in her fingers. The quiet ache she lives with from having been touch-starved for so long.