When she looks at him, she feels compelled to ask him what he needs from her; she's now unsure.
He's good, he says - doesn't need anything.
She pauses - like it's encasing her in ice.
In either case, takes a step toward him, determined to be of service; "...Then... I will remain at hand, Master," she says.
He's no one's master anymore.
Then what does that make me?
He scuffs his hair, smiles tiredly; approves.
And relief races her heart; burns her face.
All as she hears the word "want", in his voice, like déjà vu waiting to manifest.