James came downstairs the next morning in ordinary clothes with a Bureau lanyard in his pocket, and Nyra took one look at him from the kitchen doorway and had his sleeve in both hands before he reached the bottom step.
"It's an office," James said. "The debrief. I told you last night."
Her grip didn't move.
"No Tower. No floor. A room with a long table and bad coffee, and I'll be home before dinner." He crouched, so she could check his face and see that it was true, the way she checked everything now. "Before dinner, Nyra. You can start being annoyed at me at six."
She studied him for a long moment. Then she released the sleeve, one finger at a time, and stood in the doorway with her wings pulled in tight while he put his boots on.
His mother watched from the kitchen with her tea. She didn't say anything about floors, or reasons, or his father. She'd said it. It stood between them, already built, and neither of them needed to add a brick this morning.
