None of the guards spoke to him during the walk, though several exchanged glances Rohan pretended not to notice — the particular, wary sort of glance people gave something they weren't entirely sure they'd correctly identified yet. He couldn't blame them for it. He wasn't entirely sure he'd correctly identified himself either, not anymore. Seven months ago he'd been an eighteen-year-old sitting through his third and final Awakening ceremony, dreading nothing worse than the prospect of remaining ordinary. Now he was walking through the corridors of an alien starship under armed guard, having just held an entire vessel's engine hostage to buy himself six days of passage toward a system he'd never heard of until an hour ago.
Ordinary would almost be a relief at this point.
It was, by any measure Rohan could construct, an improvement on every place he'd slept since the day he woke up in a dungeon that shouldn't have existed and stumbled into a universe that hadn't wanted him.
