Finally alone, Sonja stretches out and allows the nonchalant, hard exterior to melt away. Replacing it was an angry, rage that had began to bubble when she had first sensed that her gift was gone, and only continued to be stoked by each new bit of information. If there had been anyone about the anger in her gaze alone would have made them step back. Rolling over, surprisingly still tired even though she had apparently been sleeping for two days already, Sonja mentally tallied on her own private score sheet. Those who someone, be they King or Barron, would account for.