Chapter 19: Cael Morrow Is Missing

The morning after was ordinary in the way mornings sometimes are when something has shifted underneath them: the same light through the same gap in the curtains, the same sounds from the street below, Ptolemy demanding breakfast with the same absolute conviction that the world owed him sardines. Evander made tea. He did not think about the letter. He thought about it continuously and called this not thinking about it, which was a distinction he had refined over seven years into something nearly functional.

Cael left at half nine, bag over his shoulder, looking the way he always looked when he was carrying a conversation he had decided to set down temporarily — present, collected, slightly elsewhere. He said he had a seminar at eleven and the reading group at four and that there was leftover soup in the pot if Evander didn't eat it someone would have to. Evander said he would eat the soup. Cael said good. The door closed.

The flat was quiet.