"I’m sorry, Mielikki," Keene says, an eyeblink and several hours later, quite genuinely contrite as she stands in the doorway with two procedurally mandated orderlies, "you know how it is. The spotlight is random. I do appreciate that the timing is awkward, and of course we’ve only just seen each other. If you like, we can defer." Neith wonders if she knows about the dream—and if so, how.