The date looked ordinary until I wrote my age beside it.
Eighteen.
I stared at the number, then put the pen down.
Cedric's body had reached eighteen that morning. The years I remembered living on Earth did not become fewer because the academy calendar had reached the tenth day of the sixth month. I had been twenty-two when that life ended. Both facts sat inside the same tired head, and neither gave me a sensible answer to a birthday greeting.
Ren solved the immediate problem by saying it before I had prepared one.
"Happy birthday. Your parcel is at the desk."
"Thank you. Which part should I respond to first?"
"The parcel, if you want it before the clerk leaves."
I went downstairs.
The clerk found the parcel while I signed the receipt. My signature looked as though somebody had interrupted it halfway through. I considered blaming the pen, but the clerk had watched me use my left hand.
"Everything there?" he asked.
I opened the wrapping far enough to check.
