ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-NINE: It's Definitely Thursday
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“Why did you think I was over a hundred years old?”
Alden’s fingers stopped tracing the seam where the table’s crystal inset met polished wood. Darn it, Esh-erdi.
“I just thought you were a little older than you are, not that old.”
Zeridee was sitting across from him in the only other chair. Behind her, the wall of her hospital room had turned into a giant “window” with a view of an Artonan city. Alden didn’t know which one.
“It is uncommon for someone my age to have the position that I do. However—”
“We’d just been rescued from drowning,” Alden interrupted. “It was a bad time for me to be estimating ages.”
The two of them had been talking for a while. At first, they’d apologized back and forth, but the trading of, “Sorry for this choice I made that might have almost killed you,” and, “I don’t think you should be sorry for that, but I’m sorry for,” had become undeniably ridiculous. So they’d just stopped.