She looked up, around, anywhere in an effort to escape her thoughts. She remembered a time not long ago when the position and honor of being janquer felt sacred, felt invincible. How naive she'd been.
Seeing the blood on Aya's robe this morning brought back memories she'd hoped she'd buried. But the similarities between Aya and her father had collided this morning, shaking her so thoroughly that she felt herself withdraw from Aya, afraid to love him, to stand close to him, because she feared seeing him drenched in blood as she'd seen her father that day.
She started counting steps to avoid remembering.