Damien's POV
She was in the east reading room when I found her, which was where she usually was in the evenings when the day's work had finished and the packhouse had settled into the specific sounds of night. The fire was lit and she was at the far table, but her notebook was closed, which was unusual. She was looking at the window rather than at the page.
I sat down across from her.
She looked at me with the expression that meant she was deciding something. It was a look I had learned to read carefully, because what came after it was always worth paying attention to.
"You look tired," she said.
"I am." I said it without deflection, which was still something I was learning to do. I had spent twelve years treating tiredness as information to be managed rather than a fact to be acknowl
