The apron was still tied around Tam's waist when she came through the back door from the southern street, which meant she had forgotten to take it off again.
She always forgot when she was tired, and the particular tired from a working day had a specific exhaustion to it, something in her hands and behind her eyes that needed the walk home to settle.
When she arrived at the citadel, she untied the apron strings on her way through the corridor and folded it over her arm.
Pam was coming the other direction down the workers' wing with a bundle of clean linen tucked under one arm and the expression she wore when she had been at work since dawn and was nearly done but not quite.
She stopped when she saw Tam.
"You're later than yesterday," she said.
"There was more to do today!"
Pam looked at the apron.
She looked at Tam's face, the one she had been looking for fourteen years. The tiredness was always there, but this time there was a glow to it.
