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Of all the things on his to-do list, Hector knew that figuring out how to handle Leo was pretty much the top priority. Thankfully, he still had time, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about how catastrophically horrible things could become if negotiations with Leo broke down. Maybe it had been a mistake to direct him back to Atreya.

Agh. It was too late for regrets. That kind of thinking was useless at this point, he felt.

And it wasn’t like the situation was hopeless, either. Far from it. He already had a few ideas about how to approach the Leo problem, and he had a feeling that talking to the Queen would help clarify his thinking. He could hardly imagine what would come out of that conversation. After the mayhem in both Sair and the Undercrust, it now felt like a lifetime had transpired since his last encounter with the Queen.

Not to mention, he had no idea how she was going to react to everything that he had to tell her. He’d previously been concerned that she would simply be angry that he had brought so many fugitives from the Vanguard into her country, but now, a part of him was worried that she would take a stance similar to Roman regarding the Rainlords.

Would she see them as tools to be exploited? Or merely potential allies?

Too many unanswerable questions. He didn’t want to get lost in pointless worrying. He didn’t have time for that. He barely even had time for sleep.

It had been a long day of meetings, and now that it was over, he felt a different kind of exhausted. Not so much physical--though that was certainly there, too--but mental. He wondered if he’d talked more today than he had in any other day in his life. It seemed quite possible, but he was way too tired to devote any more brain power to the notion.

He was preparing for bed in his own room--properly preparing for it with silky pajamas and everything for the first time in ages--when a knock arrived at his door.

Garovel wasn’t immediately around to tell him who it was, and he had also removed the Scarf and lain it on the nightstand by his bed. Momentarily, he considered grabbing it and trying to discern the identity of the knocker thereby, but then he just shook his head and said, “Who is it?”

“Selena Cortes,” came a young and feminine voice.

Holy fucking shit, a girl was at the door to his bedroom.

“I don’t know if you remember me, Lord Goffe, or if I’m bothering you--ah, er--if I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Unsurprisingly, Hector had no idea what to say. Should he even say anything? Should he open the door? Should he tell her to open the door? Should he cry to Garovel for help like a goddamn baby? He was unclear.