“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Sprite said, rubbing an eye with the back of her hand. Apparently she was more exhausted than she had realized. That knife wound must have really taken its toll on her systems.

“It’s all right, my dear,” Darkholm said, standing over her. “You were injured. You fought that hardwired monster. Here, take my cot. Rest, rest.” Darkholm directed her toward the bed. She had noticed his white hair was receding to a widow’s peak, but only now saw that it was also pulled back into a ponytail.

She thought it somehow made him distinguished.