It was late. That’s all Wren knew. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the near silence outside, the quality of dim light in the room, and some sort of internal time clock all told him it was the middle of the night.
At first he wasn’t sure what had pulled him from slumber’s embrace. The usual suspects for something awakening him were conspicuously absent—there was no urge to pee, no remnants of nightmare chasing around the edges of his conscious mind. Outside there was no distant wail of a siren.
He turned on Devin’s couch, away from the back of it, and gave a little gasp. A figure was standing over him, little more than a shadow. As his eyes better adjusted to the darkness, Wren recognized Devin, who stood, barely illuminated by the scant sodium vapor streetlight coming in through min
