Vasilia was alone on the bridge.

Redana had been sent to the infirmary. Epestia had been allowed to accompany her. Liu Ban had been given to the Hermetician for stabilization, and a more permanent residence. Alexa had been sent to her quarters. The hoplites had been dismissed to find their next complaint. And Dolce needed a moment.

Not one of them would come to join her. Dolce would return, yes. Eventually. He swore an oath before the gods that he would. No matter what happened. No matter who was there to greet him.

Vasilia was alone on the bridge. And alone she would remain.

***********************************************************

It wasn’t a far distance. Not more than a foot from hand to doorhandle by his eyes. If speed was of the essence, he could clear it in under a quarter of a second without effort. With effort, a tenth. With manners, a half. He had not yet beaten the full second in either his attempts or his retreats, nevermind the time wasted between them. He could calculate the full shameful statistic if he wanted to: “Time wasted hovering uselessly outside the bridge.”

He reached for the door. He slowed to a stop. But his hand could not stay still.

He drew the hand back.

[i]Two hundred, fifty four seconds, and eighty-nine hundreths.[/i]

Dolce tore his eyes from the unyielding door and slunk silently to the kitchens. Pots would need cleaning. Meats set to thawing. Ration packs replenished. Always more to do there, and mealtimes looming in the distance.

He ought to know better than to waste precious time.