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Rolaev replies:

To warn you before your allies become worshipers of openness and your enemies become worshipers of silence. Both will claim purity. Both will lie.

I read the line twice.

Ghar says quietly, “She is not wrong.”

“No,” I whisper. “She’s not.”

I type:

And what are you now?

The pause is long.

Outside the viewport, a piece of Nareth-Kul turns slowly through the dark, its black surface veined with dead silver.

At last, Rolaev replies:

Uncertain.

The word changes the temperature of the room.

I glance up at Ghar. His expression is unreadable, but his hand stays on my shoulder.

Rolaev sends another message.

Do not romanticize that. Uncertainty can become humility or hunger. I do not yet know which it will become in me.

My throat tightens.

I type:

Then don’t be alone with it.

Ghar’s hand flexes slightly, but he does not stop me.

Rolaev answers:

You would offer counsel to your enemy?

I would offer supervision to a dangerous person with useful knowledge.

For the first time in our entire acquaintance, Rolaev ’s reply almost feels amused.

That is less sentimental.

I type:

I’m growing.

Her answer arrives quickly.

Do not grow careless.

I stare at the screen, feeling the strange ache of this conversation settle into me. I do not forgive her. I cannot. Teren’s name is on a paper because of her. So many names are nowhere because of her. But hatred alone no longer fits the shape of what exists between us.

She is not my friend.