After seven months and everything that word contained — every decision that had cost something, every compromise that had changed me, every night when the thing I was waiting for had felt further rather than closer — unremarkable was the most remarkable word I could have received.
Kael came in while I was still holding the position.
He read the report over my shoulder. I felt him go still.
"Unremarkable," he said.
"Yes."
"He's going to want more tests."
"I know. Let him." I straightened. "Let him do every test he needs until he's satisfied. We are not rushing this end."
Kael looked at me with the quality of attention he'd developed over the past months — not the assessment of someone who was checking whether I was managing, but the attention of someone who had learned to read the di
