"I couldn't get to sleep earlier," Numair said. "I kept thinking about that poor fuzhu, and what I could possibly say about them. It feels wrong to do my broadcast in the morning without saying something...but the report they sent this morning didn't even include her name. Surely they've found out more about her by now?"

Hawk was still ostensibly staring at the notebook, but his recently transformed arm was wrapped around Numair, and he felt every place where they met: the weight of Numair's head on his shoulder, Numair's dark hair tickling his bicep, his forearm cradling Numair's scarred back, their fingers entwined loosely at Numair's waist.

"Oh, wull." He flipped the notebook closed with one hand. Numair raised his head a little to see Hawk looking at the ceiling wearily. He said, "I can tell you all about her."