Palamedes doesn't really want to think about Dulcinea, but he can't help but wonder what Gideon knows about the two of them. Yes, all right, he hadn't been particularly subtle about his feelings by the end--though God, he had tried--but he had kept the specifics to himself, for the sake of his own pride, and maybe Dulcinea's as well. In retrospect, knowing what he does now, knowing that he might have stopped so much bloodshed if he had just talked to the woman, it all feels miserably childish.

He exhales a sigh. At least Gideon doesn't look like she wants to murder him anymore. "Me too," he says quietly. There are so many things he wishes he could know, that no he might never have the chance to, about the people he had held dear, and about the nature of their society itself. Palamedes doesn't like it one bit.

"We might find out yet," he says after a beat, unwilling to give in to the inevitability of ignorance. "One of them might appear here, or," the corner of his mouth turns up as an idea suddenly occurs to him, "or perhaps we can find a way to communicate. Even if we can't travel outside the pocket universe, we might be able to get a message through." Palamedes turns around and starts hunting through the things on the table for a blank piece of paper and a pencil.