It was dawn, and he was in his room, which was suffused in the pink early morning light. Numair slept beside him, apparently undisturbed by his sudden wakening, rolled up in the quilt. The clock radio on the crate that served as a beside table was issuing a soft hiss of noise. Hawk sat for a moment, running his fingers through his hair, until he suddenly became aware that the noise wasn't quite covering up a periodic dripping sound.

He turned the bathroom light on, illuminating a white pedestal sink, a mirrored cabinet, a scattering of toiletries. The faucet was leaking. He wrenched one of the handles tighter, and it stopped.

He let out a huge sigh, and sagged sideways against the wall. The bathroom was small enough that he could still see himself in the mirror, doing this. For a while he just stood there, rubbing his eyes, the feathers on his back--which had been standing on end when he woke up--slowly smoothing.

Finally he pushed off the wall, turned out the light, and stepped back into the bedroom--and paused. Numair had woken at some point, and was now sitting up, looking at him silently.