Chapter 17: Sable Calls Aldric

The voicemail timestamp reads 3:47 a.m., which means she recorded it before she had thought clearly about whether she wanted a record.

Sable sits on the floor of the rented room with her back against the radiator, which is warm and unreliable in equal measure, and listens to herself speak.

Her own voice: measured, professionally neutral, the particular register she uses for written reports and check-ins with the institute. She has practised it until it costs nothing, until it sounds like nothing — like a woman who finds archive work agreeable and has no particular feelings about it one way or the other.