The garden doors slid open. Kiem and Bel both turned as Jainan paused in the doorway. He was slightly flushed from the exercise but not breathing heavily.

He held something that Kiem realized was the stick, telescoped down to carry.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I was just outside.”

Kiem stared at the stick—the quarterstaff—which had folded down to something bronze-sheened and no larger than Jainan’s hand. It kept Kiem’s eyes

away from Jainan’s face and disordered hair, which were reminding him of last night in a distracting way. “Uh, good morning,” he said. “Nice morning for …

martial art things. Right?”

There was a short pause. “Yes,” Jainan said. He sounded wary, which was understandable, because Kiem was making no sense at all. “Did you want me? I was late getting up and couldn’t see you anywhere.”

“No, no, not at all, I mean, yes, I mean—wristband! Right!” Kiem turned to the screen, trying to dispel last night’s memories. The screen was still showing the passphrase request. “Bel says your wristband—”

Jainan was already looking up at the display. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He crossed to the table and picked up the diagnostic bubble. The pearly gel yielded when he pressed a finger into it to activate the wristband’s print sensor. “I didn’t realize it needed another pass.” He whispered a passphrase.

The error screen cleared and the wall filled with messages. Kiem blinked, not sure what he was seeing, and then realized they were Jainan’s and looked away.

Jainan was watching him. “Was that all?”

Kiem cleared his throat. “Press Office sent over the cuttings from the wedding.” He turned to the folders on the low table. “Do you want to have a look? It’s not pretty.”

Jainan placed his quarterstaff on a side table, neatly aligning it with the edge.

When he turned back, he seemed a shade more sallow, but his expression hadn’t changed. Kiem might have imagined the reaction. “I would like to see.”

Kiem handed him the folders. He hadn’t been careful; his fingers nearly brushed Jainan’s arm, and Jainan all but dropped the folder trying not to touch him. Kiem hastily stepped back, wondering how he’d gotten it so wrong last night as to think Jainan actually wanted physical contact. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that, so he turned away to give Jainan some space and poked at the diagnostic shell. It looked like Jainan’s passphrase had automatically bound their accounts together. Surely there was a way to fix that.

“These are the interviews you did after the ceremony,” Jainan said, without looking up. He had turned to the other folder. “I apologize that I didn’t stay.”

“You had to pack,” Kiem said. “No need to apologize. Anyway, some of the articles came out pretty rubbish, sorry about that, did my best. Anything about us in the Thean folder?”