Cilian's gaze dropped to the bowl, then back to Ren's face. He didn't reach for the spoon. Instead, he let his good arm fall limp at his side, looking helpless in a way that Ren knew was at least fifty percent calculated.
"You see, Ren, I would like to eat, but I'm far too weak to hold a spoon, Ren," Cilian whispered, his voice dropping into that dazed, melodic rasp.
"What?" Ren furrowed his brows. What was he planning now?
"My shoulder... the blood loss... I think I might faint if I try to lift my arm." He leaned in just an inch, his voice dropping to a melodic, manipulative rasp. "If you want me to stay alive for your bullet... you'll have to feed me."
Ren stared at him, his eyes wide with disbelief. He didn't have the strength to move his arm, but he could shoot a gun and handle the recoil with no issues?
This bastard.
