Then at Mira.
Mira was looking at the food she had organized, which she did every time to ensure it was as she'd requested, and her expression communicated nothing useful.
Elara sat in the remaining chair.
The food was the same quality as the first dinner — substantial, warm, the kind that was for eating rather than for displaying. Someone had added a dish she didn't recognize, something that smelled like the eastern provinces, which meant Mahir had stopped somewhere on his way here and had the specific instinct to bring something.
She noted this.
Did not say anything about it.
"Item twenty-one," Mira said, across the table. "You finished it."
"The fourth section," Elara said. "The piece that's been resistant."
"What resolved it," Mira said.
