Sera called at eleven fifty-three.
Zevran was asleep. I had stolen back to Floor Five — not because I didn't want to stay, but because I was a woman who made deliberate choices and staying the night required a specific kind of readiness and tonight had already given me enough significant things to process.
I was on my kitchen floor. Obviously.
When my phone rang I looked at Sera's name and answered immediately because Sera calling at midnight meant one of two things: something was wrong or something was enormously right, and either way I needed to know.
"He told me he loves me," she said. Without hello.
I looked at the ceiling.
"When?" I said.
"Tonight," she said. "An hour ago. He came to my building — not the café, my building — and he knocked on my door and when I opened it he jus
