The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 587

Chapter 587: 587 | We’ve All Been Genuflecting

The fourth floor conference room smelled like fresh paint, which meant somebody had spent the weekend covering up whatever the last three weeks had done to the walls.

Imara got there eleven minutes early and took the chair closest to the window, because the window faced the Crucible and she wanted to look at it while people talked about it. The dome sat out past the eucalyptus line with scaffolding crawled up one flank and a hole in the northwest quarter that tarps had not managed to make small. Orange vests moved across the curve of it. Somebody’s crane arm swung a panel into place, slow as a held breath.

She put her right arm on the table and worked her fingers.

Thumb. Index. Middle. The ring finger got about eighty percent of the way to a fist before the tendon told her to stop being greedy, and the pinky did nothing at all, the same as yesterday, the same as the day before that. Voss said the median nerve was tracking. Voss said the word tracking like it was a promise and not a verb people used when they didn’t want to commit to a number.

Three weeks ago she had put three full charges into something that did not care, and then she had let a twenty-two year old with abandonment issues make her angry enough to reach, and that reach had cost her a forearm she was still learning to negotiate with.

The door opened. Grant Hollis came through it sideways, because Grant Hollis came through most doors sideways, and set a tray of coffee on the table like he was apologizing for the size of his own hands.

"Brought the good stuff from the annex. Not the faculty kitchen." He pushed a cup toward her without asking how she took it, because he already knew. "How’s the arm."

"Mine."

"That’s a better answer than last week." He dropped into a chair that took the weight without comment, which was more than most chairs on campus could claim. "Last week you said fine."

"Last week I was lying."

"I know. That’s why I asked again."

Sable Mercy came in behind him and was somehow already seated before Imara registered the door closing. That happened. It had happened for three years and Imara had stopped pretending it didn’t. Sable set a water bottle down, squared it against the table edge, and folded her hands.

"Steele."

"Mercy."

"You’re moving your fingers under the table. I saw it from the hall."

"You saw it from the hall."

"Yes." Sable’s dark eyes went to the arm, then back up, and there was nothing gentle in it and nothing cruel in it either. "Keep doing that. Every hour. It works."

Eli Morrow arrived with a stack of folders he did not need and a smile Imara had never once caught him faking. He took the seat beside Cole’s empty one, which he always did, which Imara had decided long ago was not a coincidence. He looked grey around the eyes. He always looked grey around the eyes on Tuesdays and nobody said anything about it, by unanimous silent agreement that had never required a vote.

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