A small child just teleported into his apartment hallway. Sharpe was standing in front of the bathroom mirror; he had sloppy gobs of shaving soap dotting his chin, some of which dripped down the front of his linen shirt when he turned his head at the sudden blur of blue in his peripheral vision.

"Bugger!" The soldier swore loudly while ineffectually brandishing a stiff-bristled shaving brush at the intruder. "How the bloody hell'd you..."

He peered at the girl. Was there something familiar about her? Perhaps her style of dress or her complexion or even her hair...