"Bad luck," Martin answers immediately, and maybe he's a little uncharacteristically dour, but it's been a stressful few days. Few weeks. Months. Years. He sighs as he continues to lean against Jon, more leeching warmth from the tea than interested in actually drinking it.
Finally, tiredly, he just says: "Please just let me help you."
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Finally, tiredly, he just says: "Please just let me help you."