Freja put her head in, saw the map, and whistled once under her breath. "That looks like a way to get lost with confidence."
"It's a way to see what people used to believe was connected," I replied.
"Same outcome if you're stupid about it." She glanced at Henrik. "She's got the fever-watch face. Ingrid asked for an extra pair of eyes on Anna Moe's sister in the lower dens—baby's feeding hard and the mother's colour isn't right. Can your archive spare her."
Henrik's jaw worked. "Two hours. Then back to the weights."
I went.
The body under my hands was real and warm and temporarily more important than any struck road. We adjusted feed, heat, and rest. The sister's colour improved enough for Ingrid to stop looking at the door as if death might knock out of politeness.
When I climbed back to the library my fingers still smelled of milk and fever-sweat.
