Nara didn't sleep.
Kael knew this because the Domain told him — the specific quality of a between-walker's Class running active and alert in the room two floors below his, no suppression field dampening it anymore, the full presence of a Death's Chosen who had spent twenty-two years learning to exist within six meters of suppressed System architecture and was now sitting inside five kilometers of clean honest framework and didn't know what to do with the difference.
He went downstairs at four in the morning.
She was at the kitchen table.
Not the worn books from the cell — she'd left those. His mother had found her a coat and a set of clean clothes and a meal that she'd eaten with the focused attention of someone who had been eating institutional rations for two decades and was discovering that food had more dimensions than they'd remembered.
She was looking at her display.
Level 53. Death's Chosen. Blank multiplier.
