LYSSARA
The waiting had a specific texture. It was not the waiting of someone who had other options and was choosing this one, the waiting of someone who had assessed all available options and found exactly one and was now required to inhabit the space between the sending and the receiving without anything useful to do inside it except stay and hold on and not think about what happened if the answer did not arrive in time.
I was good at waiting. I had spent eleven months becoming good at it. But this was different; this was waiting for something I had set in motion, and that was moving as fast as the fastest available network channel could move it, and that was still not fast enough to make the waiting comfortable.
The mark cycled against my palms.
I held on.
I talked to Zirelle durin
