Lion Head Mesa threw it away, but now i say

a familiar shadow ensconced the halls. qiao slowed her steps, watching as khaba’s figure filled between gold and red stone filigree.

he wished to talk. she would oblige, but his request for her to leave the aegis of her chambers and hall did not sit well with the hemet. this little thread she settled upon, pulling to see where its strings might lead her.

after all, she had not forgotten he thought her stupid.

pleasant evenings, jodai khaba. qiao thought of her oracle bones and the message hidden in their intricate lines. certainly we can talk. perhaps you would like to accompany me to makono’s chambers?

there the knife’s edge flashed brilliantly; qiao’s gaze set upon the man in coldness.