Despite his aggravation, Atticus smiled at Fiona as she greeted him. He gave her a shallow bow, and stepped into her room. “Miss Fiona. Ah, no, Master Ryan didn’t send me. I was wondering if you might do me a favour, if you’re not busy.” He lifted the book in his hand and his smile turned wry.<br/><br/>“I remember you enjoy reading.” He remembered how her voice had wove into his dreams, the first weeks he had been brought to the Teahouse, bedbound and drugged under the worst of the pain. Hearing her had warded off some unsettling dreams. He sometimes borrowed books from her, but he never truly mentioned what she had done for him. “Ah, I came across a word that... evaded understanding. I don’t understand who to pronounce it.” He paused, hearing the unsure tone in his own voice. “It isn’t important, but it has an awful way of bothering me.”