Neither of them slept.
Elara knew this because at five a.m. she gave up pretending and lay in the dark listening, and through the wall she could hear the quiet sounds of Rowan being awake... not pacing, not restless, just present. Moving to the kitchen once, back to his wing. The low sound of a drawer opening. The specific silence of a man sitting with something large and choosing not to run from it.
She had found, in the last five months, that his silences were rarely empty. They were the sound of him thinking.
She got up at five-thirty. Made coffee. Set two cups on the counter and stood at the kitchen window and watched the city come back to light.
He appeared at five forty-seven in yesterday's shirt and dark circles she was not going to comment on. He looked at the two cups. Then at
