The laugh struck something, an edge of pride or defiance. The actress leaned forward, hands on her knees, and Baru found something in her eyes, maybe offered, maybe revealed by the defeat of the camouflage that had kept it hidden: a distant horizon, a movement of wind across an imagined future, not Cairdine Farrier’s mechanism, not so cold or certain—instead a passion, a want, and a powerful will fixed upon that want. Her voice carried the charge of it.
