“You should go south,” he says.

For a moment she thinks he means the South: the hot South. Sun and sea and warmth on the skin.

“Go down to Ronaldsay,” he says, “see the tomb there. The Tomb of the Eagles. On the cliffs there. That’s wild. That’s a good one to see before you go.”

She looks down at her hand, fiddles with her ring, but her ring is not there. The man looks at her finger, then back up at Hannah’s face.

She is aware, in the moment, that an invitation has been extended. Aware of a conflicting set of emotions, the answering leap of desire.

Is this how it was? With Lissa and Nathan? Was it spoken or unspoken? Did they think of her, before they crossed the line?

“Is that your wife?” she says.

“Where?” He looks startled.

“There.” She reaches in, takes his phone, turns it over and presses the button on the side. There she is, a young woman, squinting into the light, a child of four or so before her.

The man looks down at his phone, back up at Hannah. “That’s her,” he says.

“So what are you doing here?” She is furious now, hissing her words. “Talking to me?”

He takes the phone from her, looks at the photograph briefly.

“She’s dead,” he says. “She died a year ago.”

“Oh.” It is as though he has kicked her in the stomach. “God.”

“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

He looks away, to the rain-washed harbor, then back again.

“Anyway,” he says, “I didn’t come here to talk about my wife.”

She is silent. And then, without anything more being said, something is agreed.

They ride up in the lift. She watches his hand press the button for the second floor. His thick fingers. His wide palms. He leads the way down the hallway and she follows, half a step behind. He opens the door, then steps back to let her enter, and for a moment she feels a sharp slice of fear—he could be anyone—but then the fear dissolves. He goes to turn the light on, but she puts her hand on his wrist. “No,” she says. “Keep it dark.”

THE VISITORS’ CENTER at the Tomb of the Eagles is staffed by a soft-voiced woman. The woman speaks about the tomb, about how it was found on her father’s land, a mile or so from where she and her family live today. About the human remains that were found there—no skeletons, only jumbled bones, thousands upon thousands of them. About the eagle talons found among them. About the theory that the bodies were left out to be eaten by the birds. Like the sky burials of Tibet. How only the clean bones were saved.

“Excarnation,” the woman says in her soft voice.

“Excarnation,” says Hannah, tasting it. A new word.