Edward's touch is deft and adept, even for decades of no use. The blood isn't coming as strongly, and she could use one or two stitches, but its not so serious he'd want to require them of her the way Carlisle might.

Especially given her own resources.

He cleans it, making sure. More details he won't ever forget, ever share. The cells are quiet, as the jailer and prisoner stare at each other, while River's 'conscience' reprimands.

"I wouldn't exist. None of this would." If he made the choice he wants to and can't. The one he's already made, back centuries before Carlisle even made him. He simply has to figure out how to hold it in his head and not swear.

He wants it to matter, but maybe the problem is that it does too much.