25
WHEN SHE CAME to the library, someone sat at her desk.
Daya Ezmi.
He leant back in her chair, casually flipping through a book from the pile that she intended to tackle this morning.
Mikandra stopped, and considered running before he noticed her, but in retrospect realised why there had been a particularly vicious black-clad guard at the door. A Coldi woman, with arms thick as jungle vines, not the juvenile keihu type that usually patrolled this part of the building. Daya was the reason for her presence. There was no way Mikandra could leave the library past this guard.
Daya looked up from the book and his eyes met hers.
He rose from the desk and gestured for her to come.
Mikandra did, because there was nothing else she could do. Her heart thudded against her ribs.
“So we meet a
