I turned to see Naomi walking through the doors, and my breath caught.
She looked rough. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her normally bright face appeared drawn. Her pink and black striped hair hung loose around her shoulders, but it lacked its usual shine. She moved slowly, like every step required calculation.
The extraction tax. Had to be. I'd noticed she was tired last night but hadn't realized how hard the energy drain would hit her.
Guilt pinched at me before I shoved it down. She'd been fully informed. She'd consented. And the stat gains proved the exchange benefited us both.
Still, watching her shuffle toward the food line made something uncomfortable twist in my stomach.
Naomi reached our table ten minutes later, balancing a tray with a single piece of toast and four—yes, four—cups of coffee arranged in a neat square.
"Morning," she said, voice barely above a whisper as she slid into the seat across from me.
