Jack coughed. His eyes watered and his nose burned, but he held himself together and merely winced at her.

This is not my home anymore, he almost said, but the words melted when she smiled at him again.

Adaira moved to sit in a leather chair, pointing to an empty one across from hers. “Have a seat, Jack.”

Whatever she had to ask of him must be truly wretched if she had to ply him with whiskey and order him to sit. Jack relented, sitting on the edge of the cushion, as if he might need to bolt at any moment. He laid his harp across his lap, weary from toting it around.

She was gazing at him again, her fingertip tracing the rim of her glass. He took that quiet moment to study her in return. In particular, her hands. There were no rings on her fingers. But sometimes partners didn’t wear rings to signify their vows. Sometimes they broke a golden coin and each wore a half of it around their neck, and so Jack’s eyes traveled upward. Her dress was cut square, exposing the valleys of her collarbones. Her throat was bare; no necklace hung about it. He presumed Adaira was still unwed, which surprised him.

“You’re exactly how I imagined you to be, Jack,” she said, and his eyes snapped back to hers.

“I haven’t changed?” he asked.

“In some ways, yes. But in others . . . I think I would know you anywhere.” She downed her whiskey, as if the confession had made her feel vulnerable. Jack watched as she swallowed, uncertain how to reply.

He kept his face poised as he drained the rest of his drink.

“More?” she asked.

“No.”

“Your hand’s bandaged. Are you hurt?”

Jack flexed it. The pain from the cut had faded considerably, thanks to Sidra’s care. “Just a scratch. The folk of the sea weren’t very welcoming.”

Adaira rolled her lips together, as if she wanted to say something else but decided against it.

“Should you tell me now, heiress?” Jack asked. His stomach was beginning to ache, wondering why Adaira needed him.

He wanted to get this over with and be gone.

“Yes,” said Adaira, crossing her legs. He caught a glimpse of her calf, the mud on her boots. “I suspected you enjoyed your life on the mainland since you never visited us here, and as you have many responsibilities at your university . . . let me be frank. I don’t know how long I will need you.”

“Surely you have some idea,” he said, tamping down his irritation. He lived by a schedule and hated to imagine floating through time. “A week? A month? If I’m not back in time for the autumn term, I’ll lose my position at the university.”

“I truly don’t know, Jack,” Adaira replied. “There are many factors at play, ones beyond my control.”