Dinner was a pocket of warmth in a cold country.
We ate Alastor's noodles, which lived down to their reputation in the best way, and for a couple of hours the world shrank to the size of one long table. Kathyln stole from my bowl with a surgeon's efficiency. Rachel took her father's argument about the ethics of compulsion wards apart one premise at a time while he pretended to be offended and was obviously delighted. Snow ticked against the glass. It was dangerously easy to pretend this was all there was.
But the night had other appointments. When Rachel went to walk Kathyln to the clinic wing, Alastor caught my eye down the length of the table and gave me a small nod. I nodded back.
I had come north to see allies and look at what the Northern forces could do. I had also come for this. One more visit to the woman who reads the future like a ledger she never asked to keep.
