Wish couldn't speak. Her brain was still processing. Still trying to build a container large enough to hold what she'd just witnessed. She was still gripping his arm. She didn't fix it.
"That was," she started. Stopped. "I don't—"
"Too much?" His voice was carefully neutral. Watchful. "I sometimes misjudge the scale of what a person can—"
"That was the most incredible thing I have ever seen in my entire life." The words came out like pressure releasing. "I can't—my brain won't—how are you real—"
"I'm the deity of darkness and stars." He turned to face her, and his expression was complicated in a way she'd never seen on him before—wary and open in equal measure, like a man bracing for a reaction he couldn't predict. "That's what I am. What I can do when I'm not holding back."
Wish stared at him. "You were holding back?"
