Draven came on a Wednesday.
Not to the Hold. To the hospital. To my ward — bay four, my territory, the room where everything started.
He stood at the nurse's station with the composed quality he carried everywhere, looking slightly out of place in the specific way that people who were very good at their own environments looked out of place in someone else's.
Bettany looked at him.
Then at me.
"Bay four visitor," she said. "Not a patient."
"I can see that," I said.
"He's been standing there for four minutes," she said.
"He's thinking about how to say something," I said.
"Should I offer him tea?" she said.
"Absolutely not," I said. "He'll interpret it as a power move."
She looked at Draven.
"He does seem like a person who interprets things," she said.
"He interprets everything,"
