Before she leaves, she pauses under the painting of the man in the blue coat. There’s something she needs to remember: a word, lurking at the tip of her tongue. She closes her eyes to try and hear it better. Brightness flares at the corner of her vision, the smell of smoke sudden in her throat. Sand under her fingers, and a flash of blue.

The beach. The man in the blue coat lying on the sand, telling her something had happened. She asked his name, and he told her. Peregrine.

She writes the name on the wall under the painting. Let Santi find it, next time he comes. No doubt he’ll decide it means something.

The next day, she’s up a ladder in the planetarium of the Odysseum, patiently unscrewing the bulbs that stand for the stars, when her phone buzzes with a message.

It’s from Santi. She considers deleting it unread. Damning her curiosity, her constant need to know, she opens it.

I found him. We’re in the house.

It’s not an invitation. Thora doesn’t care. She slides down the ladder and runs.

When she comes up the stairs of the memory house, Peregrine is standing in the center of the room. Santi sits against the wall, head in his hands.

The man in the blue coat looks at Thora, quietly lost. She turns to Santi. “Where did you find him?”

“I called him here.” He points to Thora’s scribbled addition to his painting. “I said his name aloud, and he walked in.”

Trust Santi to try what amounted to a prayer: a leap of faith she would never have dreamt of making. “And?” she prompts.

Santi shakes his head. For the first time, she sees the despair in his eyes. “It’s no use. He’s not making any sense.”

She can’t bear it: she has never seen him so hopeless. She strides up to Peregrine. “Okay,” she says. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Peregrine frowns. “You’re here,” he says.

“We’d figured out that much, thanks.” Thora’s anger surges. “Where. Is. Here?”

“I—” His mouth falls open. “I can’t tell.”

“Yes, you can.” She feels her rage closing in on her, narrowing her to a single point of fury. Easier to accept her nature than to fight it. Easier to lash out, to break him like she’s trying to break the world. She paces away from him, grabs a broken spar of timber from the floor. “You can and you will.”

Santi stands up. “What are you doing?”

“Getting answers.” Thora advances on Peregrine. “He’s about to tell us what’s going on.”

“Thora,” Santi says in warning.

“He knows something.” She hears herself pleading, without knowing what she’s asking for. “He knows something and he’s hiding it from us.”

Santi comes to stand beside her. “Look at him,” he says. “He’s confused. He can’t—”