He hadn't spoken to her in at least a quarter. Maybe two. There were the occasional phone calls, and every now and then, they'd make plans for lunch or dinner that never really happened. Dylan's house was an empty one, now, with Requiem living with Cayson, and he busied himself with little things: cleaning the house even after the housekeepers had been there; going to physical therapy; giving lectures at USR academies (their faces always initially stunned with the horror of his--he'd show them what the rapine had done to him, the sheer brutality of them)--but his days and nights were hollow with something he couldn't name. He still grieved the dead in the quiet of sleep. Dylan wrote her a letter. It didn't have the speed of electronic correspondence, of course, but there was an intimacy to it. His hand seemed less bold than usual, but it was recognizable as his.
When Koani put the envelope flat out on her desk and gently pressed out several of the more prominent creases, she had no real idea just how many 'dragons hands had touched it. She knew that it had already been thoroughly scanned for any harmful contaminants, and who knows what else. It was becoming increasingly difficult to get things into the hands of the Grader these days, and she had no doubt that the contents of the letter had already been read. She had friends and allies, sure, but her reach was not all encompassing and not everyone could be trusted. It took Koani a moment to actually open the letter. Handling paper was so archaic. Before she even read it, she'd already assumed who it was from. A tiny smile had played across her face, and even that felt foreign. When had she last smiled? For some reason, it felt fitting to attempt to respond in physical media herself. It took her a while to find an implement to write with and when she finally did, it took her that much longer to write than she'd anticipated. She knew that she had to be brief and couldn't be specific in case it was intercepted... but it felt good to write.
Something shifted in him when he tore open the envelope. There had been a raw, sulking part of him that had feared she wouldn't answer--but she had. She had. She missed him, too. He slept a dreamless sleep that night.
