She started the session earlier than usual.
Not because the schedule required it. Because she'd been awake since the fourth bell running calculations in her head and had reached the point where lying still was less productive than getting up and doing the work properly.
The common room at pre-dawn had the quality it always had — quiet, lamp-lit, the settlement not yet audible through the walls. Freda set the notebook on the secondary desk, opened it to the new section she'd started the morning after the ceremony, and wrote the date and the session number at the top of the page.
Session forty-seven.
Forty-seven documented ambient field readings since Kazuma's birth, each one building on the last, the most comprehensive record of this specific unprecedented development that existed anywhere. She knew this because she'd checked. Morgana's own library — a collection spanning eight centuries of scholarly work — had nothing comparable.
She was writing the book as she went.
