Lucius had spent a restless night, his mind replaying the sharp, biting words of their argument in the parlor. He was a man who had faced down charging cavalry without blinking, yet the memory of the cold disappointment in Evelina's eyes made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar, gnawing anxiety.
He had made his mind up before the first horn of the watch sounded. He would find her. He would sit her down and he would explain—without the interference of titles, tribes or "agreements"—that Koa was a comrade but Evelina was the heartbeat of his new world. He had even practiced the words, turning them over in his head until they felt less like a soldier's report and more like a man's confession.
