“When I do a job, I do it right,” Stephen says, archly. There’s just the fact that he can’t actually take proper notes, so the paper’s more for show than anything else, and winds up shuffled to the side. He’ll have to loop back later and painstakingly add some notes in what’s becoming his jagged shorthand.

But he leans closer, to take a look at that shard. Familiar and just like his own, except that his is in the left palm. (He still wonders what makes them gravitate to the hand, when other implant locations are possible but infrequent.)

“So I’ve been curious,” and his voice does turn more conversational now, dropping some of the aloof, official trappings. “Have you felt the shard pain? What takes precedence, your numb hands or the shard?”