Now Natasha sat in the far rear of the passenger compartment, her large pale blue eyes staring off into space. In her late twenties, she was a partial albino, her skin strikingly white and almost translucent, like frost on a windowpane. Tall, thin, almost spindly, she looked worn and tired and desolate from whatever she and Bryan had gone through on the island.

The aircraft reached its cruising speed and entered level flight. Two rows in front of Natasha, Kali shrugged out of her harness, stretched unobtrusively, slid into the aisle, then made her way past Musil toward the back of the cabin. Her hood was down, and she was carrying a paper restaurant bag she had brought on board during their refuel at the Coast Guard station.

She stopped alongside Natasha, holding on to the back of her seat with her right hand. She could not have failed to notice the bruises on her face and the caked mud and dirt in her hair.

“It’s clam chowder,” she said, raising the bag in her left hand. “You wanted something to eat.”

Natasha’s gaze pulled in from its vast distance and settled on her face.

“Where’d you get it?”

“A stand outside the Coast Guard station.”

She gave a nod. Kali took two foam soup cups out of the bag, passed one to Natasha along with a plastic spoon, and sat down beside her with the other container.

They ate in silence a minute. Natasha swallowed hungrily. The chowder was steaming hot.

“Good stuff,” she said. “Thanks.”

Kali looked at her. “The Chez Leon in Brussels is known for its mussels steamed in garlic and butter,” she said. “I visited it once, alone. Near the main plaza, I found a bench, sat and ate. A big bucketful of mussels, with a couple of plates for the empty shells. There were cats everywhere, friendly ones. They belonged to the restaurant.”

“Awesome.”

Kali nodded.

“I lost track of time. The sun went down. The cats wandered over and begged some off me. But I wasn’t overly generous. I kept eating until the shells were piled high on the plates.”

“Were you starved or something?”

“I was tired.”

“Of?”

“Moving from place to place, I suppose,” Kali said. “And I liked the spot.”

“So is there a moral to the story?”

Kali shook her head.

“It’s just a memory,” she said and paused. “Your friend will recover, Natasha.”

“I didn’t like leaving him.”

“He needed surgery. His hand was badly torn up. There was damage to his bones and tendons.”

Natasha looked at her over the steaming chowder. “I won’t talk about what happened to us.”

Kali nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said.

Kali nodded again. “You shouldn’t be,” she said and lowered her voice a notch. “We’ll talk later. About other things.”

Natasha sat quietly for a long moment, her blue eyes studying Kali’s brown ones.