She came at the second hour.
Lysander was at the table with the stylus callus aching — he had been writing since the first hour, the response to the third Carian timber contact and two coastal watch updates and the supply projection that Hector had asked for. His right hand was slower than usual. He switched to his left for the last paragraph and found that his left hand, which had been running the sword grip every morning for two years, was steadier than he expected.
'Interesting,' he thought. 'I have apparently been training my left hand without intending to.'
He looked at what his left hand had written. The letters were rougher but the pressure was consistent.
Arsini knocked — her knock, two soft taps — and came in.
She sat across from him. She had three tablets and the expression she had when something had been getting worse for several days and had reached the point where it needed to be said.
"The shared sessions," she said.
He set the stylus down.
"Tell me."
