I take another sip of the lemonade, then glance down at the contents. The kitchen must have changed up the recipe, because it has a funny yet familiar aftertaste. “I meant what I said,” Nolon says quietly, glancing at the cream satchel I carry. Cream. Not black. My head blurs, my vision swimming momentarily as I swing my head to look at him. “Tairn—” But Tairn isn’t there. Every connection I have is fuzzy. No. Oh gods, no. But...but I’ve trusted Nolon with my life for years.
