Chapter 57: Logistics
There was a knock at the door. Phoenix waited for the familiar whoosh as the door slid open, and an older man, heavyset, with round cheeks and round glasses and a thick flannel shirt stepped tentatively into the room. He smiled good-humoredly at her and pulled up the usual visitor chair.
He offered her his hand and she shook it, surprised at the vigor in her own grip. She was healing, slowly but surely.
"Hello, Phoenix," he began, his voice booming, but gentle. "They call me the Draftsman, but you can call me Pascal."
There was something about this one that was different than the others - something more frank. She knew she shouldn't trust her damaged senses, but nevertheless, his mild demeanor put her at ease.
"If you're feeling up to it," he continued, "I thought you might be interested in hearing a story - the story of how the place you know as Paragon came to be. Would you like that?"