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The car pulled up outside the Calloway house.

Adrian Wyndham was on the pavement.

He looked diminished. He'd lost weight. The lines around his eyes were those of a man two decades older. He was thirty-four and looked fifty.

"Eliana." His voice was barely carrying. "I heard about your father. I'm — I'm glad it's over. He deserved it."

She nodded.

"You should keep your distance," she said. "Thank you."

"Wait —"

He reached into his coat and held something out.

A small cloth bag. She didn't take it.

"It's a blessing," he said. "From a chapel. I've been going." His throat worked. "For the child we lost. I pray for them every day. I hope they've found a better life somewhere."

His voice broke slightly on the last sentence.

She looked at the bag for a moment.

Before she could decide what to do, Sebastian's voice came from beside her.

"What a coincidence."

He reached into his coat pocket and produced a narrow box. He opened it: a strand of sandalwood prayer beads, polished smooth, strung on a thin cord. Simple, and quietly beautiful.

"I had these made for you," he said. "Here." He took her wrist gently and fastened the bracelet.

In the late afternoon light, the beads caught a warmth that seemed to come from inside them. She looked down at her wrist and something settled in her chest — something quiet and solid and unexpectedly safe.

"They're beautiful," she said, before she'd decided to say anything.

"Good." Sebastian laced his fingers through hers. "Let's go in. I've been thinking about dinner." He said it with a warmth that was not quite performance.

Adrian stared.

She walked with Sebastian to the door. At the last moment she looked back.

"Thank you, Adrian," she said. "For the thought."

She went inside.