Palamedes starts to write, but after a few moments he goes still. Slowly, he raises his eyes, something curious, scrutinizing, and sad in his expression. He is reminded, above of all, of the lyctor who had taken Dulcinea’s place at Canaan House. Thousands of years before their paths had crossed, she had been near death, and had made a terrible bargain with God that had granted her immortality without a cure. You have been in pain for ten thousand years, lyctor. Pal had looked into the woman’s eyes and seen how that pain, that stasis, had driven her to madness.

“I see,” he says. The words are gentle, but contain no false sympathy. Ava hadn’t asked for such a bargain, but she had gotten it all the same. Friday is right: it isn’t fair. But it is, admittedly, awfully interesting. “That does strength my theory. And this idea that we are kept in stasis, it fits with broader conceptual understanding of this pocket universe the Captain is keeping us in.”

He finishes writing in his notebook and sets it aside. “I’m not sure what can be made of this information, at least not yet. But it gives us a sense of the parameters of this prison of ours. I think I can confidently say that we won’t sicken or grow old here. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing entirely depends on one’s perspective.”