Emee twines her ponytail around her fingers and I watch the soft blonde hair, so different to that of the Cerel girls I know, and I’m fascinated all over again. The little dog has flopped onto the stone step next to her, and is watching the street.

“No, he doesn’t have any children. He’s not married,” she says simply.

“Why not?” I ask. “He must be rich.”

Emee rolls her eyes. “Not everybody marries for money, you know.”

No, I know that, thinking about my parents.

“He hasn’t found the right one yet,” Emee murmurs, eyes lowered, as if she’s back talking to her secret admirer.

“Or maybe he has,” I point out with a grin, “but she’s not interested.”

“Oh, she’d be interested,” she says firmly, as if she’s spent some time thinking about this too.

I glance at her curiously. Maybe she’s talking about herself? I can imagine this lonely girl with her romantic imagination being in love with the mighty Director. Bored, I try a new tack. “Where does he live, the Director?”

Emee stands up then, putting an end to my speculation. Her face averted, she tidies her skirt and picks up the dog. “I have to go inside now. My aunt will be wondering where I am.”

As she waits on the kerb for a handcart, pushed by a Cerel, to go past, she throws me a glance over her shoulder. It’s an odd expression I can’t decipher. Confusion, puzzlement or something else? I’ve asked too many questions about the Director, that’s for sure. She could betray me to her aunt and uncle, just for asking about him. The Travesters are always alert to a possible uprising, especially since the time a group of Cerels from a district in the western part of Ursa stormed the House of Law and took some Travesters hostage.

I’ve been too nosy, too obvious. I could kick myself. She’ll betray me and I’ll get taken away – in that moment I’m certain of it. And yet, when she reaches the door of her building, she turns and gives me a little wave before ducking inside.

She’s lonely, I reckon, in her house of adults. She wants a friend, even if it’s a Cerel friend, and that makes me feel better. Not safer – because I’m never really safe – but a little easier.

8