The fish spit rotated.
Preet's face had become the specific, deep pink of someone whose blood had made a unanimous decision about where to go. She looked at the fire.
Aisha looked at her hands.
Meijin, with the specific, disciplined neutrality she'd maintained all day, looked at Raven with an expression that communicated 'I see exactly what you're doing' and then, under that, the involuntary layer that all the disciplined neutrality in the world couldn't fully cover: 'and it's working anyway.'
Gia said, with the precise, clipped delivery of someone making an administrative statement: "'That is a deeply inappropriate question.'"
"'That's fine,'" he said.
"'We're not answering—'"
"'One,'" Nara said.
Clean. Simple. Aimed at the fire, not at anyone's face.
The group turned.
Nara was looking at the flames with the specific, composed quality of someone who had made a calculation and executed it. Her chin level. Her hands in her lap.
