She stiffens a little under his hand -- but again, more because being touched is not something she expects. She relaxes again beneath it, both from the warmth of his hand and the words that accompany it.

"Thank you . . ." The words are a murmur. While she can't completely let go of her anxiety, he's been kind, understanding . . . and that weighs more than he knows.

She'd like to know more -- why has he hidden? Even more, what has been the cost? But such things seem deeply personal, and she's not sure she can ask.