Emily wondered where that photograph was now. No doubt boxed up in the attic back in Norfolk, along with all the other reminders too painful to look at, too precious to throw away.

Paris. She could go back to Paris. To the city where she felt so free.

And do what? She had no money, no job, nothing apart from a legacy that didn’t even belong to her because she couldn’t finish her grandmother’s stupid test.

There was no more home. There was no one to whom she could turn. How much pain did she have to bear? How much loss and remorse and suffering of heart?

Tears kept appearing on her cheek, surprise lines of wet that she tried to wipe away, only to find her fingers dotted with specks of red. She glanced around, saw that she was the subject of much interest—eyes that darted away, whispered words into another’s ear and fingers that tapped away at smartphones. Mounting speculation and curiosity that she had not noticed up until that point. Which made her do what she always did when there was too much attention: she found somewhere to hide.

The station washroom was stark and white and bright, with two cubicles and a mirror above a plastic sink. Emily turned on the tap and watched water that ran over and through her fingers, the cool bringing momentary relief to her flushed skin as she cupped the water in her hands, brought it to her face, again and again. Looking up, she was startled at the sight of a young woman staring back at her. She had full lips with a pronounced cupid’s bow, hair like strips of sunlight and bright eyes that looked right back. It was as if she was asking Emily to see the memory of the girl she used to be. Screaming at her to be remembered, to be allowed once more to live.

“I look just like her,” Emily said as she turned her head a little, tilted it up, then down. She leant closer to the mirror, then stepped away, laughing at the similarity between her reflection and the portrait hanging in Antoine’s house, and the photograph given to her in Paris too. How much she looked like the woman who she had kissed every morning and before she went to bed. But she never saw what others did, didn’t realize part of the reason why they stared, because she had been paying no attention to the woman she, herself, had become.

A decision to be made. To stay or go. To follow this test, this puzzle, all the way to its bitter conclusion, or go back to England. Figure out another way.

Emily smoothed back her hair and tried not to look at how those earrings really did show up the flecks of gold in her eyes, which only made her think of where Tyler could be. If he was still in the city, somewhere, or already making his way back to London, with her.