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I woke up in my own house.

So, someone knew where I lived.

So, they’d probably gotten somebody out.

So I hoped.

They’d left me a pot of water, which I was grateful for—I ached all over and didn’t feel like getting up at all.

But I wanted to know what happened. Maybe they were still here?

“Hello!” I called out.

It was the same older maccan from the northern circle that came in from my front room.

“I was, ah, appreciating your art.” The hesitation was clear, even through the magic that made his speed seem slower.

It does seem to have that effect on people. It makes people think.

I hope so, anyway. It’s hard to read emotions at half speed.