Amuné flinched at the contact.  She couldn’t help it; there were very few people she was comfortable letting touch her.  But once again Cain’s hand did not bring the anticipated emotional impact, and she let the sharp breath she’d taken out slowly.  There was something in the touch, but it was still muted, and she didn’t recognize it on instinct alone.  She’d need to make a deliberate effort, something she’d hardly ever done.  If he noticed, he’d be angry at her, wouldn’t he?  Except he’d seen touch enhance her ability, that day at the market, and he’d deliberately removed his glove.  The girl decided to interpret that as tacit permission -- she could hardly make things worse, after all.  She pressed her free hand over his pale one and closed her eyes.

His feelings  were distant, but not beyond Amuné’s reach.  Foremost was confusion.  Cain could not explain his reactions, and did not understand what caused him to respond as he did.  She’d been mistaken; he believed himself to be speaking the truth.  “I hurt you,” the girl murmured, lifting her gaze to meet his.  “I’m sorry...I didn’t understand.”  She’d become so used to rejection that she’d come to expect it, and she’d misjudged.  “I thought -- I was wrong.”  No excuses.  Adding an excuse to an apology made it less meaningful.

[@TheMinorFall]