“Now, I wait.” This is a topic with which Palamedes is infinitely more comfortable. He has only been thinking about it in minute detail for years. “…Though I didn’t expect to have to pull the trigger, so to speak, so soon, or in such imperfect circumstances.” Even more than usual, his thoughts flow into his words, barely divorced from one another in this creation that is, after all, a product of his own mind.

Restless as ever, Palamedes stands from the sofa and begins to inspect the room. “I anchored my soul to my body such that, when the circumstances are right, I might be returned to it. Because of the nature of, well,” he makes a vague kind of gesture, “it had to be hundreds—thousands—of anchors, instead of just one. I don’t know how much material will survive, or what Cam will be able to get her hands on.” A breath. “But as long as she gets her hands on something, and finds a clever enough necromancer, and gets out of Canaan House alive…” He trails off as he runs directly into a line of thinking he cannot waste energy contemplating—what if she doesn’t get out of there alive. “Harrow will help, and she’s clever enough to understand my notes. So that should be relatively straightforward, at least.”