She didn't sleep. She didn't try.
She lay on top of the covers fully dressed and ran the conversation in Lorenzo's restaurant back through her mind with the methodical patience of someone who understood that the information was there if she worked it right. His gestures. His pacing. The places he chose to slow down and the places he accelerated through. The things he said and the specific shape of what he didn't say, because the unsaid things were always the more useful data.
Ranon has met you before. Not in that office. Before.
