Kristin laughs through tears and Simon wipes them away, kissing her. They can’t embrace but their arms are tangled through the bars.

Only Kristin is my light. After a shocked few moments of noting Simon’s expression, how different it looks from normal, watching the couple feels voyeuristic. Emma ducks her head, turns to see a chagrined Pradeep, and beside him, Travis Bell.

Bell is by the desk, his face drawn tight with tension. In his black suit in the golden room, he seems as out of place as a crow in a field of daisies. His eyes are glued to Kristin and Simon, but primarily to Simon. Emma doesn’t know if Bell has seen Simon Gutmunsson in person before.

Emma walks to him, her legs unsteady. “Bell.”

“Yeah.” Replying but not replying, utterly distracted.

“Travis, look at me.” She squeezes his arm and he drags his gaze to hers. There’s nothing she can say to make this better, but she can offer him relief. “You don’t have to stay in the room. I can keep an eye out for Kristin.”

“I… I wanted…” Bell’s gaze drifts back to the Gutmunssons like his eyes are magnetized. “I should be here.” His voice is husky, though, and pain vibrates from him in waves.

“No,” Emma says. “Not if it hurts this much.”

“Do you think he knows what he’s done?” Bell whispers. “How many people he’s destroyed?”

Emma’s first reaction is to say, Yes—he just doesn’t care. But that would probably be too much for Bell right now.

He wrenches himself sideways. “I think you’re right—I should step out.”

Which, of course, is the perfect time for Simon to call through the bars. “Excuse me? Are you Mr. Bell? My sister has instructed me to thank you.”

Bell stops but doesn’t turn around. Standing near enough to touch, Emma feels his body shudder as he speaks over his shoulder. “No thanks necessary.”

“On the contrary,” Simon says brightly. “You’ve reunited me with my twin—that surely deserves some acknowledgment.” His voice changes. “Do we know each other?”

“Get out,” Emma whispers sharply to Bell. “Now.”

“Mr. Bell…” Simon draws the syllables out. “I remember the names that were included on my charge sheet when I was prosecuted. You’re his son, aren’t you.”

Bell turns slowly to face his father’s murderer. “Yes.”

“Simon.” Kristin pulls on her brother’s arm.

Simon makes a grimace. “Well, this is a pickle. I was preparing to be effusive, which I’m sure would be unwelcome now. You don’t look anything like him, you know.”

“I know.” Bell’s voice is a rasp.

“Ah,” Simon says, “you hate me. That’s understandable. But you’ve done me a great service by bringing me my sister, so let’s call it water under the bridge.” He cocks his head. “It’s disappointing, isn’t it, when you realize that the terms of judicial punishment don’t adequately align with one’s need for personal retribution. What should I have gotten from the court, do you think? Firing squad? Hanging?”