He thought about Freda at the secondary desk, writing section after section of a framework built from knowledge that had nowhere else to go. Writing it without complaint. Writing it because writing it was what was needed and she was the one who could do it.
He thought about Cael in the corridor at dawn, standing at the memorial field and saying the names he'd kept in the margin of a file for four years.
He thought about Gruk at the eastern wall, checking positions he'd already checked, because checking was what he did when something important was about to happen.
He thought about Vessa's serpentfolk warriors running doubled patrols without being asked.
He thought about Kelvin restructuring the daily briefing so that Lyra could attend without standing for four hours, without drawing attention to having done it.
