She looked at him.
"Nineteen," she said.
Her voice had the specific, present, not-quite-managing quality of a voice operating in the full broadcast range of the atmospheric event.
He looked at her.
"Virgin," he said. Not a question.
Her chin came up.
The specific, present, not-apologizing-for-it lift of a young woman's chin.
"Yes," she said.
He looked at her with the flat, assessor's expression.
He reached forward.
His hand found her jaw — the flat, cupping hold, the specific, unhurried contact of someone who was taking a reading.
The Eye of Truth filed: foundation intact. Meridians compressed. Potential: Core Formation Late if the dual cultivation transfer ran clean from the first session. He noted this.
He chuckled.
The flat, small, internal-amusement chuckle of a man who had found something exactly as it presented.
He pulled her forward.
