His office was in the middle of a narrow hallway, down a wing in which the walls were no longer made of all glass. He unlocked the door with his thumb and Morgan followed him into a large, spartan room. One entire wall was devoted to a window that overlooked a frozen pond surrounded by stalks of ice-encrusted cattails. It was beautiful. The black-and-white landscape resembled an Ansel Adams photograph.

The chemicals, contained in various jars and bottles, were on a countertop, a black reusable bag pooled around them. All she had to do was find the handles, pull them up like a drawstring, and away she could go. But Morgan didn’t want to be rude. He seemed to enjoy her company, or at least the fact that he had a non-work-related visitor.

A black-and-white framed photo of a ribbon of water snaking through a valley hung on the wall above a spider plant, the only splash of color in the entire office. Morgan wandered closer to it, and observed what appeared to be Christopher Reynolds’s signature scratched in the bottom right corner. “You took this?” she asked.

“Guilty.” He nonchalantly traced her footsteps, one hand tucked in his pocket. “Had to get up at three A.M. and hike up before the sunrise.”

“It was worth it.”

Christopher beamed at the compliment. Morgan meant it, though. She would never be that skilled with a manual camera if she practiced from now until the end of her life. Another photograph, this one nearer the door, featured a sailboat. Its ghost trailed in its wake, a hazy impression of where it had been. The water was an ethereal sheath. “Ten-minute exposure,” offered Christopher. “I’ve got a little Pentax K1000 I’ve had since the seventies.”

“These are…” She was lost for words. “You should submit them to a magazine.”

The old man looked down at the floor as though embarrassed. He wore the emotion unnaturally, like Bennett in that cable-knit sweater. Reynoldses weren’t cut out for shyness or humility. “I’ve had a few published. By nature magazines and whatnot. I shoot for myself, though. It’s amazing how all the world’s secrets reveal themselves if you’re patient enough.”

“And if you look in the right places,” Morgan added. “When you said you dabbled in photography, I didn’t realize you were so…”

“Old-school?” He laughed.

“Talented.”

“You’re too kind.”

She almost laughed herself. She really wasn’t. Tell that to all the people with “Ruined” branded on their necks, she thought. But they deserved it.

Christopher walked over to the counter, pointed to a plastic spool and the canister amid the chemicals. His eyes twinkled. “I figured you might be able to use these,” he said. “They were just in storage. I have so many I’m tripping over them.”

“Thank you,” Morgan said, and she meant it. She figured she’d have to rig something up on her own, but an actual developing reel and tank would make things a lot easier.