Well, none of it had worked and it had taken a Darkfriend to push him in the right direction… and what that said about him, he didn’t particularly want to think about. He had his Dragon pin now, and the Red cord on his shoulder, nobody was going to send him scurrying back to his chores, and that was what mattered right now.
He didn’t relish the thought of being back in the Infirmary, even as a visitor; he’d had enough of the place for one lifetime. He didn’t relish the thought of facing Marle again, either, and since Marle was a Yellow, chances of that were higher than average in the Infirmary. However, this was something he had to do, and so he pushed his discomfort aside, shoved it into the deepest corner of his mind and shut the door. Funny how that kept getting easier.
“Ji’val Paks Liard,” he told the Dedicated at the desk. “Where’s she?”
The Dedicated, a lanky fellow named Karl, looked up at him with open disbelief. “No way,” he said, an openly sullen note to his voice. “No way they raised you—”
”Ji’val Paks Liard,” Marten repeated, with such perfect, icy calm that he genuinely surprised himself. Karl, however, was even more surprised and gave the directions quickly enough, if not quite with the deference technically due a full-ranked Asha’man. Marten found that he didn’t give a shit. He nodded curtly and strode in the appointed direction.
She was held in a private room, which all things considered was probably wise. Marten wasn’t sure if the broken bond was common knowledge but someone as traumatised and grief-stricken as Paks must be was probably better off without other patients coming and going all around. It was also better for the conversation — or maybe encounter, if she wasn’t in the mood to talk — about to take place. Marten paused briefly outside the door, then knocked… and entered the room without waiting for a reply. “Paks?”