Catarina shook herself and regained her composure. She picked up the tea tray and brought it over to the bed, setting it on the edge.

“Drink your tea,” she said. “I used the last of our ration of milk and the biscuits.”

You know that Silent Brothers do not drink, Jem said.

Catarina gave him a sad smile. “I thought you might still find comfort in holding the warm cup.”

She wiped her eyes covertly and turned and left the room.

You did not know of this? Jem said.

“She never said,” Tessa replied. “So many problems are caused by unnecessary secrets.”

Jem turned his face away and ran his finger along the edge of the teacup. She caught at his hand. If that was all she could have, she would hold on to it.

“Why have you kept so far away?” Tessa said. “We have both been grieving Will. Why do so separately?”

I am a Silent Brother, and Silent Brothers cannot—

Jem cut himself off. Tessa clasped his hand to the point where she might have broken it.

“You are Jem—my Jem. Always my Jem.”

I am Brother Zachariah, Jem returned.

“So be it!” said Tessa. “You are Brother Zachariah, and my Jem. You are a Silent Brother. That does not mean you are not dear to me as you always were, and you always will be. Do you think anything could separate us? Are either of us so weak as that? After all we have seen and all we have done? I spend every day grateful that you exist and are in the world. And as long as you live, we keep Will alive.”

She saw the impact these words had on Jem. Being a Silent Brother meant destroying some parts of you that were human, burning them away, but Jem was still there.

“We have so much time, Jem. You must promise me that we will not spend it apart. Do not keep away from me. Make me a part of this quest as well. I can help. You must be more careful.”

I would not put you in danger, he said.

At this Tessa laughed—a true, ringing laugh.

“Danger?” she said. “Jem, I am immortal. And look outside. Look at the city burning. The only thing I am frightened of is being without those I love.”

At last she felt the pressure of his fingers, holding her hand back.

Outside, London burned. Inside, in this moment, all was well.

The morning came, cold and gray, with the smell of the still-burning fires in the air. London woke, shook itself off, picked up its brooms and buckets, and began the daily act of repair. The blackout curtains were opened to the morning air. People went to work. The buses ran, and the kettles boiled; the shops opened. Fear had not won. Death and fire and war had not won.