By late morning on Friday, I had written a page and a half of Selene's assignment.
Channel recovery under sustained load. Four pages. Due tomorrow.
"A page and a half," Penelope said.
We were halfway down the path to Ferran's yard, with the rest of Sanctuary strung out ahead of us in a loose, noisy line that Cedric kept trying to straighten.
"Nearly halfway," I said.
"Three eighths."
"Nearly halfway."
She looked at me the way she looks at schedules that are wrong in ways she has already fixed, and let it go.
Practical core cultivation was still suspended. Selene had spent the morning replacing it with theory, which had mostly meant Selene drawing channels on a board and then looking at them as though they had personally let her down.
Ferran's lesson had not been suspended.
As far as I could tell, nothing had ever happened to one of Ferran's lessons.
