His eyes spoke so many things to her; she was sure her eyes answered. He was safe, at least by appearances. Themis wasn't foolish enough to think libraries or any source of knowledge as lacking danger, but she was relatively sure public records slaughtered few alchemists. A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips before she could think better of it. She was relieved, dispositionally so, to see him somewhere as mundane as the library and without injury. Her smile was gone as soon as it appeared.

She could feel it the moment he picked up his mask and shut her out; the warning she had seen in his posture with so many others now directed toward her. She hadn't prepared for this. Letting the sting of his cool response snap her back to reality, Themis schooled her own expression. It pained her to do it. It felt like a contortion to thin her lips and veil her eyes. It seemed farcical to lengthen her spine and slightly raise her chin. With Samuel there was a melting, a softening of her posture. Without intention, she would find herself leaning just a measure too close, her head inclined as if to share secrets. When they stood together in contemplation, she learned how she seemed to fit so well at his side. But warmth gave way to ice, her body rigid. This was not a safe place for her softness.

"My apologies. I did not mean to interrupt you." And she should turn and leave. Why wasn't she turning to leave?

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   Samuel Griffith