Again, Ghet's hands splayed and contracted as she fought the instinct to touch Helen. She had to fight, too, to keep a lid on her own anxiety - sometimes the combination of her Talent and the Mars' abilities could be like water and high voltage lines.
She shot a troubled glance at Rhys, the leaned across the bar, moved the vodka bottle closer to Helen, and poured him a shot of something suspiciously colourless and odourless.
"Helen... oh gods." Where to start? She didn't even really properly understand herself what had happened to Yarwin. "Helen, Anaya is dead. She and Valin were both attacked, somebody tried to assassinate them. We never found Naya, but Rachel says, well, she's sure." She tried her best, but some of her doubt coloured her voice. She'd seen too many deaths turn out to be anything but final, Helen's own among them.
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