The morning didn't bring relief; it brought the smell of mothballs, expensive wool, and the silent, judging presence of Galina.
Andrea stood in the center of the master suite, her muscles screaming in a protest that reached all the way to her marrow. The "Desk Encounter" had left her with a collection of faint bruises on her hips and a deep, pulsing ache that made every step a reminder of her "Midnight Debt." She was dressed in a simple silk robe, her long dark brown hair a wild tangle that she hadn't yet found the energy to tame.
"You are late in starting," Galina said, her voice like the grinding of dry stones. She stood by the massive mahogany wardrobe, two open trunks made of reinforced carbon fiber at her feet. "The Pakhan does not tolerate delays when the convoy is ready."
"The Pakhan spent his morning rearranging my skeletal structure, Galina," Andrea snapped, her green eyes bleary but sharp. "If he wants me on time, he should learn to use a clock instead of a desk."
