"You did this in one night?" His voice came out thin.
Rodion faced him fully. A faint, nearly human shrug lifted one shoulder plate.
Mikhailis rubbed a hand across his face, then dragged that hand through his hair, leaving it standing wildly. Unsupervised, he echoed in his head, part incredulous, part delighted. Of course the sentinel, given boredom, built security upgrades that would shame royal architects.
A gentle clink of porcelain cut through the hum of fire. Monkey sidled up, tray balanced effortlessly. Steam curled from a squat, obsidian mug whose handle glowed faint red—heat-runed to perfect sipping temperature. He angled it precisely beneath Mikhailis's nose. The aroma hit like friendly artillery: rich, dark, a hint of citrus hidden under roast.
