The walk back through the Game Hall took longer than it should have, mostly because Lin Yue kept losing track of how many corridors he'd already passed.
That, on its own, was worth noting. He didn't lose track of corridors. He'd spent enough of his life memorizing exits on instinct that counting turns had become something closer to breathing than to thinking — automatic, unconscious, never something he had to consciously perform. Tonight his feet carried him the right direction while the rest of him stayed several minutes behind, still standing at that railing beside a pond that didn't ripple from any wind he could feel.
I remember people who interest me.
