The resignation letter was still in his jacket pocket when he got back to the dorm at three in the morning.
Soren locked the door, pulled off his boots, then sat on the edge of his bed. His arms ached through the bandages.
Joan's amber liquor was still burning a warm line down the center of his chest, while seven Fracture sites and Bureau-level access codes rattled around in his skull.
Someone had been building a continent-wide network for three hundred years.
He'd deal with that in the morning.
Right now, he needed four hours of sleep and a bed that wasn't already spoken for.
He got neither.
Selah was already there when he got back.
She was sitting on the left side of his bed with a thermos of something that smelled like peppermint, reading a training manual with her legs crossed under the blanket.
She didn't look up when he walked in.
