Johnny entered the room prepared for him, feeling nothing but numbness and exhaustion.
He took off his coat and hung it on the rack. He had intended to take a cold shower and sort out the chaos in his mind, but found that he simply could not do it—by the time he came back to himself, he was already seated at the desk, with his notebook spread open before him.
Fine.
Johnny resisted the urge to slap himself and simply turned the pages, flipping back more than a dozen pages to read through today's notes. The result was not pleasant. The more he read, the more fury swirled in his chest. The events Jago Sevatarion had personally recounted from that distant past made him wish he could take the trench shotgun and combat servitor he had loved most during his service back with him—to the Star of Eternal Night ruled by those pallid nobles.
Don't you people enjoy dancing in human skin? Come meet my old friends, then let's see whether you can still enjoy yourselves so happily.
Johnny let out a heavy breath, rubbed his aching neck, and slowly closed his eyes.
Ever since he had been taken from the tavern yesterday afternoon until now—a time that was fast approaching noon by Terran reckoning—his mind had been operating at full speed, listening, thinking, and imagining. At this moment, he was at his limit. All he wanted was a good sleep to ease this exhaustion.
Though, professionally speaking, what he ought to be doing now was going back and continuing to listen.
My colleagues would probably want to kill me for the long sleep I'm about to have.
Johnny thought, secretly amused, yet unable to stop worrying about what would inevitably follow. The book he had undertaken was not about