I read my letter at five-thirty in the morning.
Zevran was asleep. Finally, deeply — it had taken a while, the way sleep took a while after something that needed processing. I had lain beside him until his breathing changed, and then I had gotten up and made coffee and sat on my kitchen floor and opened the envelope.
The handwriting was careful. The kind of careful that came from choosing every word and wanting the words to land correctly.
*Dr. Voss,*
*My name is Serin Ashveil. I am Zevran's mother, which you already know if my sister Mila found you first.*
*I will not ask for your forgiveness. I am not entitled to it and I don't want to perform seeking it. What I want is to say something true to the woman my son has claimed, because the record between us is blank and blank records fe
