Ayn jogged to catch up. Lettie was small, but fast. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Father Gheraeld would like to meet you.”
“Me? Why? I mean, won’t I meet him at the dinner? That’s what Dad said,” Ayn said.
Lettie stopped in front of the door at the end of the hallway and turned to face Ayn.
“I’m babbling,” Ayn said, smiling at the iron-haired woman. “I’m nervous.”
Lettie raised an eyebrow.
Ayn’s smile disappeared.
“Do I need to tell Father Gheraeld that you can’t meet him because you’re nervous?”
Ayn shook her head. “No. Of course no. I’m fine. Sorry.”
“Good,” Lettie said, one eyebrow raised. She looked Ayn over once from head to toe, then raised her hand against the box beside the door. When the red light flashed over her palm, the door slid open.