“I’m sorry I asked.” Mara set the coffee down and forked a bite of omelet.

“Don’t worry about it. Dreams are dreams.” Kai had cleaned her own plate before she began the story. She regarded her reflection in the white ceramic, then speared one of Mara’s home fries. “Probably a holdover from the hospital. You ever wonder if anesthetic stops you from feeling pain, or just makes you forget it after?”

She shuddered. “I will now. Order more if you’re still hungry. I’m paying.”

“We’ll split the check.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks. Please. Eat. You need to heal.”

“I’m fine.” Kai half-turned in her seat so Mara could see her back, and slid her shoulder out of the wide neck of her blouse to show the scars there. “See? All better.”

“People are looking.”

She laughed, but fixed her blouse, and brushed her hair back into place. Weeks and she still wasn’t used to its new shorter length.

“You still need the cane, though.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Kai finished her coffee.

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay.”

It wasn’t, but she had to say something. Even that didn’t break the silence.

“It’s good to see you,” Kai added at last. “I miss the old office. Harder to make friends with Twilling’s people. I don’t have much in common with them. They’re fine, just, you know, sales types. A locker-room culture. Reminds me of the shipyard.”

“How’s the work?”

“Weird. We memorize catechisms about pilgrims and prospects, wants and needs, expectation and return on investment. Endless training sessions where we trade off the roles of pilgrim and priest. I don’t think anyone has even mentioned faith, or rapture, or responsibility. Prayers, sacrifices, litanies, all the work we do up the mountain—it’s by-product to them.”

“Are you surprised? Pilgrims want security, anonymity, ROI. Worship is our job.”

“I didn’t mind that arrangement when I was the one worshipping. But I feel like I’m going crazy without something to believe in. I miss my idols; I miss my prayers. I miss building things.”

“You’ve been stuck in training for weeks. Once you’re out, the work will get interesting.”

“Let’s face it. I’m great in the pool, or behind an altar. I’m no good at interpersonal stuff.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say?”

“You’re fine at interpersonal whatever. You just happen to be a bit of a jerk.”

Kai wadded up a napkin and threw it at her. Mara laughed, too loud for the room. A waiter glanced their way, and Mara covered her mouth and faked a cough.