This kept infodumping, telling me how I should feel about something in a kind of irksome way. I don’t mind infodumps of information, but the barrage of info and how I should process felt like I wasn’t being trusted to figure anything out. There was a particular scene right before I stopped reading where a character narrates this whole initial meeting, change of heart, and now strong ties between herself and a person she’s telling us about who’s asleep in the next room. It’s the kind of backstory that either needs its own novella or just two sentences to say where they are now, because the choice to do this in-between thing felt like I was being told about some other story I could have been reading instead. I constantly felt like I had both too much and not enough information about what was happening, and I decided to stop.