“Don’t be silly, Tom,” said Lucie. “Go with Anna, at least. Or I hope they do strike you off the lists.” She made a face at him.

“I hope I run into the killer,” Thomas said grimly. “So far he hasn’t attacked anyone who was expecting him. But I will be.”

He blushed as this announcement was greeted by a round of amiable cheers. The others were getting up too, save James and Cordelia—taking copies of the books Christopher had brought, chattering about who was going to read what, joking about the oddest dreams they’d ever had. (Matthew’s involved a centaur and a bicycle.)

Despite everything, despite Cortana, Cordelia felt a wash of happiness. It wasn’t just that she loved James, she thought. She loved his friends, loved his family, loved their shared plans, loved Lucie being her sister. She would have felt guilty being so happy, had it not been for the hollow place in the deepest part of her heart—the small, echoing space that held the knowledge that all this was temporary.

Matthew’s carriage was waiting at the curb; he had nearly reached it when James caught up with him. Matthew turned in surprise, his expression changing quickly to amusement: James had left the house with his coat half on and was struggling to button it with gloved hands.

“Let me do that,” Matthew said, pulling his right glove off with his teeth. He shoved it in his pocket and went to work on James’s Ulster coat, fingers slipping the leather circles through the buttonholes with practiced ease. “And what are you running about for in this weather half-dressed? Oughtn’t you to be curled up by the fire with Cordelia, reading Dreams in Which I Have Been Chased and the Things That Chased Me by C. Langner?”

“That one does seem to have dubious informative value,” James admitted. “Math, I didn’t know you’d gone and gotten a flat. You didn’t tell me.”

Matthew, having finished buttoning James’s coat, looked slightly abashed. He ran a hand through his hair, which was already tumbling about his head like unkempt sunshine. “I’d been considering the idea for some time, but I never thought I’d move so suddenly. It was an impulse—”

“Nothing to do with that argument you were having with Charlotte the other day?”

“Perhaps.” Matthew’s face took on a guarded expression. “And living with Charles had become all a bit much. I bristle when he speaks of his upcoming marriage.”

“I appreciate the loyalty,” said James. “And it is, of course, entirely your decision what you do. But I don’t like the idea of not knowing where you live.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” Matthew said, with uncharacteristic shyness.