He worked through the night.
This was not unusual for Zane — the archive had seen many odd-hour sessions, the Navigator's gift giving him a relationship with time that was organized differently than most people's. When the work required it, he was simply there, the drives arranged on the table, the account open, the specific focused attention of someone who understood that what he was doing mattered in ways that required the full weight of his capability.
I had given him the source document from Dena's letter the previous evening.
He had read it once, asked me three questions, and said he would have an answer by morning.
He came to the kitchen at six.
I was already at the range — the specific hour when the kitchen became the thinking space, when the making of things was the way I orga
