Her apartment was one room: a bed against the far wall, a kitchen along the left, and a small table with two chairs by the window on the right.
The window faced the courtyard. It was open. A lamp on the table gave the room a low amber light. The bed was made with a dark green bedspread Caleb had not expected from her and could not explain why he had not expected.
Nothing in the room seemed temporary.
That surprised him more than the size of it.
Elara moved through cities, classified rooms, bridge fights, and public statements like someone who could sleep anywhere and leave nothing behind. But the apartment had weight. A mug with a hairline crack sat upside down beside the sink. A coat hook had been repaired with the wrong screw. Two books leaned against a jar of spare buttons on the window ledge.
This was not a command post.
This was where she came back when no one was allowed to follow.
Elara closed the door behind him.
Then she locked it.
