"Sit," Wirasena said again, and Rama did, choosing the seat slowly, giving himself time to settle whatever unsteadiness the old man's certainty had produced.
"You knew I'd come."
"I hoped you would. There's a difference, though I understand why it might not feel like one this morning." Wirasena closed the manuscript in front of him with careful hands, the parchment old enough that even the gesture looked practiced, deliberate. "I've waited considerably longer than a single night for the confirmation I found at that reception. One more morning of patience cost me nothing."
"You said something to me last night I haven't been able to stop turning over."
"I said several things. Which one troubles you most?"
Rama chose his words carefully, watching Wirasena's face for whatever might shift there. "The flame that does not yet burn. I want to understand what you actually know about it, not what you suspect."
