Kira

Breeder Forty-Seven's name was Senna.

She told me on the second morning, the morning of the forty-eighth hour, while Lyra sat in the corner of the room doing something quietly administrative that was mostly an excuse to be present without being intrusive. Senna had been in the healer's wing since the night we arrived and was being assessed and fed and left alone in the proportions she indicated she needed, which she indicated precisely and without apology, another quality I ...