Tertius Decimus, somehow, turns a deeper shade of red. “My apologies. Congratulations, Catenicus.” He says the word as if it’s poison. Perhaps it is, for him. The name I got for my role in the event in which his only daughter died. It doesn’t make it reasonable, but part of me understands, I think. Even sympathises. I’m an intrusive, offensive reminder of what he’s lost. In some ways, I suppose I am his Hierarchy.
Damn.......
