There were six of them.
Six hours between the kitchen counter at two in the afternoon and what came after.
She would not describe all six. Some hours belonged only to the people in the room. But she would describe the shape of them — the specific texture of six hours during which everything that had been building for a year and a half arrived at its conclusion.
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The first hour was the adjustment.
The specific recalibration of a body that had been preparing for this and was now doing it. She'd told patients about this hour for four years. Telling and being in it were, as she'd known they would be, completely different.
Zevran held her hand.
Not because she needed holding — she was capable, she was fine, she was managing with the specific efficiency that Bettany had noted in a prof
