Ren asked the question on a Thursday morning.
Not in a session. Not in the courtyard. At the kitchen table, which Ren had found the way students sometimes found it — following the between-space's quality to the specific location in the school where the honest work had been running longest.
He was already there. His mother at the intake desk. The soup ready.
Ren sat down.
He poured tea without being asked.
Ren looked at the tea.
"What is Death's Chosen for," Ren said. "In the full presence."
He looked at the student.
Seventeen years old. The Assessment Ongoing. The specific quality of someone who had been sitting with a question for weeks before asking it.
"Tell me what you feel when you ask that," he said.
Ren thought about it.
