Cleo still stood with her arms crossed and her bad knee bent so that her other leg was taking most of her weight.

“Explain!” he commanded, pointing to her knee.

“I have a weak knee, and sitting in seiza made it flare up a bit.”

He swore colorfully in about three different languages before running an agitated hand through his hair.

“What’s wrong with your knee?” he asked after a moment, and she huffed impatiently.

“You’ve seen every inch of my ...