Chapter 17: Merlin Tells Arthur Everything

The doorbell rang at eleven-twelve.

Arthur was at the kitchen island with a glass of water he had not drunk, still in his jacket, the notebook open on the counter to the two sentences he had written in the parking garage. He had not added to them. He had been standing there in the particular stillness of a house that had stopped expecting him to come home at a reasonable hour, and when the bell rang he felt something in his chest shift before he knew who it was.

He knew who it was.