Seymour doesn’t drive up the canyon from Boise until their last night: no need to upset anyone by showing his face too soon. At dawn he swallows an extra antianxiety drop and stands on the balcony wearing a suit and tie. Out beyond the hotel docks, the lake sparkles in the sunlight. He waits to see if an osprey might come overhead but none do.

Notes in his left pocket, room key in his right. Recall things you know. Owls have three eyelids. Humans are complicated. For many of the things you love, it’s too late. But not for all.

He meets the two Ilium technicians in a hexagonal lakeside room used primarily for wedding receptions, and supervises as they carry in five brand-new state-of-the-art multidirectional treadmills that they are calling Perambulators. The technicians pair them with five headsets and depart.

Natalie meets him there early. Her kids, she says, are finishing lunch. It’s brave of him, she says, to do this.

“Braver of you,” says Seymour. Every time he inhales he fears his skin might unbuckle and his bones will fall out.

At 1 p.m., the families arrive. Olivia Ott has a chin-length bob and linen capri pants and her eyes look as though she has been crying. Alex Hess is flanked by two gigantic and sullen teens, the hair of all three bright yellow. Christopher Dee appears with a small woman; they sit in the corner, removed from the others, and hold hands. Rachel enters last, wearing jeans and boots; her face has the deep-grained wrinkles of someone who works long days under the sun. A cheerful-looking flame-haired grandson trundles in behind her and sits and swings his feet in his chair.

“He doesn’t look like a murderer,” says one of Alex’s sons.

“Be polite,” says Alex.

“He just looks old. Is he rich?”

Seymour avoids looking at their faces—faces will derail the whole thing. Keep your eyes down. Read from your notes. “That day,” he says, “all those years ago, I took something precious from each of you. I know I can never fully atone for what I did. But because I, too, know what it’s like to lose a place you cared about when you were young—to have it taken from you—I thought it might mean something to you if I tried to give yours back.”

From his bag he takes five hardcover books with royal blue jackets and hands one to each. On the cover birds swing around the towers of a cloud city. Olivia gasps.

“I had these made from the translations of Mr. Ninis. With a lot of help from Natalie, I should add. She wrote all of the translator’s notes.”

Next he distributes the headsets. “The five of you can go first. Then everybody else, if they’d like. Do you remember the book drop box?”

Nods all around. Christopher says, “ ‘Owl’ you need are books.”