It takes her a moment to understand. She chokes. “I’m sorry. Are we back to the fate thing again? I thought our whole situation made the concept of fate redundant.”

“I told you. You have to stop thinking of each life as self-contained. It’s the big picture. It’s the whole.” He sweeps his hands wide, as if words aren’t enough to get his point across. “When we were partners, chasing the man with the knife. You remembered I died climbing the tower, and you stopped me to try and save me. But I died anyway.” He hits the arm of the sofa to emphasize his words. “Because I was meant to.”

“I don’t . . .” Thora closes her eyes in frustration. “How would you even disprove a theory like that?”

He looks at her blankly, as if that’s the wrong question. For a flashing moment, Thora sees him as Jules sees him: worryingly thin, dressed in old, dirty clothes, dark circles under his eyes. She sighs. “Santi, look at yourself. You’re barely functioning. You’re sleeping less than me and I have a three-month-old baby.” She puts a hand on his arm. “You need to take care of yourself.”

“Like you’re doing?”

Thora stares. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Santi pauses, as if this is a conversation he doesn’t want to start. “We’ve been given this knowledge for a reason,” he says finally. “What are you using it for? To manipulate Jules into wanting to be with you. Using memories she doesn’t share to make yourself seem like a better person.”

“Excuse me?” Thora draws back.

“I mean—” Santi starts, as Jules’s key sounds in the lock.

They both freeze.

“Fix your face,” hisses Thora as she gets up. “She’s going to think we’re having an affair.”

Jules comes in. “Hi, my love,” she says, as Thora takes her in her arms and kisses her. Jules laughs. “What was that for?”

“Just for my favorite wife,” Thora says, trying to make her voice sound normal.

Jules gives her an indulgent look. “Out of all the wives you’ve had before?”

“Yes,” Thora says without hesitation.

“All right.” Jules scans her face, brow furrowed. Why does she have to be so observant? “Your favorite wife is going to take a quick shower. Hey, Santi,” she says, waving over Thora’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, heartbreak in his eyes.

Thora lets Jules go. As the bathroom door closes, she sits back down on the sofa. “I’m sorry. You were busy telling me how I’m exploiting my wife?”

Santi rubs his eyes. “Forget it.”