There's a slight twinge of jealousy, there, only because inviting people into her house is never an option. No one goes in or out without a months' worth of background checks. And she's certainly not encouraged to make friends. But fifteen-year-old Bethmora Fortescue had made a promise to her king and country, and thirty-one-year-old Fortescue keeps it. No matter how frustrating it is, only getting human contact fleetingly on missions. And through Darby, of course. But Darby's like a younger brother, at this point. Poor Darby. Hopefully he's not taking a beating for her disappearance.

"Don't worry, you'll get no judgment from me." Fortescue raises her glass, with a sympathetic smile. "To not being a man-eating monster anymore, then? I can't imagine anyone holding it against you. If this place is even half what people have been telling me."