Commander Vanessa's hut still had the Name of Fire drawn in black sand around it, and the sandbags were still stacked where Northern had knocked her flat on top of them. She was sitting on the same sandbag now, with her elbows on her knees and the pot pipe smouldering between her fingers, and she did not get up when he came through the barricade.
He held up the folded list.
"Baletta and Han."
"I know."
"You drew them."
"Command drew them. I'm Command, so yes." She took a long pull on the pipe and let the black smoke out through her nose. "Sit down, kid. You're making my neck hurt."
Northern did not sit down.
Vanessa studied him for a long time. Up close, in the grey morning light, she seemed older than she had on the rubble slope. The burn marks from his lightning had healed. The ones from thirteen years of this had not.
