I did not sleep.
This was not unusual. I had spent nine lifetimes cultivating the ability to lie still while my mind ran through every possible outcome, every path that led to survival and every path that led to the alternative. I was very good at being awake in the dark. I knew the exact texture of it — the particular weight of the hours between midnight and dawn, the way silence changed quality as the night deepened, the small sounds that meant nothing and the small sounds that meant everything.
What was unusual was that Kaien was awake too.
I heard him before I saw him — the quiet sound of footsteps in the adjoining corridor, unhurried and deliberate, the particular rhythm of someone who has also given up on sleep and decided to be honest about it. The door connecting our chambers was not locked. I had noticed this when I arrived. I suspected he had noticed it too.
He knocked.
I said, "Come in."
He came in.
