Please note that this was written before Book 8, Supernova, was officially released, and so therefore many elements within it are probably going to be torpedoed and rendered non-canonical by Supernova’s contents.
Emily was alone on a ledge, with no idea how she’d gotten there.
She sighed and scrubbed a chapped hand across her equally weather-beaten face. Some time ago - <a month>, Emily decided, slotting in the first length of time that came to mind - such an occurrence would have prompted a lucky dip of frenzied emotions to well within her, randomised each time: panic, fear, and concern, to name but a few of the main players. But now, <htnom eno> on, it just elicited a tired sort of resignation in her, creating the same kind of mild-yet-familiar irritation one would feel when an old injury decided to act up. It was annoyance minus the sting, all the power robbed from it so that it was just a dull shadow.
With another h