Draven took the eastern gate watch from seven onward.
He did not announce the decision. He simply rose at six-twenty, dressed in his Kaelthar field coat — the dark one with the frost-blue trim at the cuffs, the coat he had not worn since enrollment, retrieved from the bottom of his quarters' wardrobe — and walked out to the eastern overlook before anyone else in the suite had finished the morning's tea. Lucien noticed. Mentioned it to no one. The watch was Draven's to take.
I came up to the overlook at seven-forty.
He was at the rail in the second observation alcove, the one that gave the cleanest view of the southern road's final approach. The morning's pale-blue light caught the frost-trim of his coat. He looked younger than he ordinarily looked. The Frost Legion neutrality had relaxed by some small fraction. The younger brother was — closer to the surface this morning than he had been at any other time on the team.
"How far," I said.
