Whatever the man said in farewell made Brenna sigh heavily, but she nodded. The man turned, and his gaze met Ciaran’s. When he spoke, it was heavily accented, but Ciaran knew the words.
“It will get worse before it gets better, but history must run its course.”
Ciaran wasn’t sure what that meant, but then Brenna splashed the surface of the water, and the man’s face disappeared.
“Selling him our secrets?” Ciaran’s voice was low, vicious.
“Asking him to sell his. He has none, other than what he told you.” Brenna handed the bowl to a medic and rose up.
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