Focus (2/2)

The wisp of Wren's Disorder vanished. Wren plucked the splinter from Rowan's thumb, leaving behind an impossibly precise cut that was barely noticeable thanks to the amount of control he'd wielded over his energy. Still, his lips tugged down as if it were a catastrophe that would require weeks of bed rest. 

"It's fine, see?" Rowan wiggled his thumb to reassure him. His own eyes were glued to the minuscule piece of wood that Wren held between his thumb and forefinger. "Everything's in working order. Now, I'll take that, please."

He held his other hand out for the splinter, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world to want it back. Wren reluctantly tore his gaze from Rowan's almost non-existent injury and turned it toward the tiny piece of wood.

"What is this? It feels like you." Wren's eyes narrowed.