Amelia hardly slept.

The night crept by at the same glacial rate as the dungeon days, her body twisted and grumbling, her mind as well. Whenever she could shut her eyes, she was ambushed by images of Alexander's face now angry, now calm, but ever unreadable. And then there was reminiscence, recalling the file, raw and painful, telling her that the man whose destiny now depended on his hands was far more complicated than she could have possibly imagined.

At dawn, Amelia was up, hair messy, eyes ...