Zofia took the telegram with trembling hands. “Will you send Monsieur Mercado-Lopez to meet me here?”

“Of course.”

The factotum left with a small nod, leaving Zofia with the telegram in her hand.

Zofia almost wished she could pretend she never saw the note on her laboratory desk, but that would be like losing Hela’s letter all over again … and she was done hiding from the things she could not control.

Perhaps it was fitting that the night before, Zofia had dreamed of Laila. In her dream, they were sitting at the high stools in the L’Eden kitchen and dunking perfectly pale sugar cookies into hot milk.

Do you know what will happen next? Zofia had asked.

Laila shook her head. It’s as unknown to me as it is to you.

You do not seem scared, Zofia had said.

All I can do is hope for unexpected joy … and if it turns out to be dark, well, nothing can keep the light away forever.

Zofia held her breath as she ripped the envelope open. Inside, was a little square of cream paper.

Did you receive my letter about our elopement? I have not heard from you. We are coming to visit in a month.

All my love,
Hela

Zofia exhaled loudly, her shoulders slumping forward. Behind her, she heard the sharp slap of footsteps.

“What happened?” asked Enrique, rushing toward her. He stopped only to kiss her cheek, a practice which Zofia had very much come to look forward to. “Is it bad news?”

“No,” said Zofia, smiling and looking up at him. Laila’s words from her dream flitted through her thoughts. “It’s … unexpected joy.”

40

ENRIQUE

Two months later

Enrique walked the long gallery halls of L’Eden, taking stock of the artifacts they had acquired: a bronze kinnari statue from the Kingdom of Siam, three canopic jars filled with the internal organs of an unnamed pharoah, and one jade carving of a horse from the Yuan dynasty. There were far more treasures in the halls, but these were the only objects that still needed to be packed off. The rest lay quietly in wooden crates filled with straw, waiting for the day when they would be sent back to the countries to which they belonged.

In a way, Enrique was right back where he had started.

Once more, they were stealing artifacts from the Order of Babel. Again, he was cataloguing make, material, history. Again, he was interviewing and corresponding with prospective native collectors who considered themselves cultural custodians and guardians of both history and heritage. They were different from the members of the Order who would have kept these treasures for themselves. Instead, these were people who promised to take care of the artifacts until the time of political and civic unrest passed, and they could once more be put on proud display for the benefit of all.

And yet for all the familiarity of his current tasks, it was the new quiet that made these halls feel alien to Enrique.