On the third night of Killian's sleep, Penelope gave up on the kitchen and carried her tea out to the terrace.
The pool lay flat and turquoise under the lanterns, lit from beneath by a glow that had no source. The loungers were arranged the way they had been when the house still belonged to the outside world. Beyond the cypress trees the fields ran on toward the spring. Nothing moved out there. The space did not have wind unless she asked for it.
She sat on the edge of a lounger with her knees drawn up and the cup warming her hands, and she did not think about Killian for almost a full minute.
Your resting heart rate is eighty-one, Oddy said gently. It's been dropping since you sat down. I'm not commenting. I'm only reporting.
Thank you.
You went outside to avoid the guest room.
I went outside to breathe.
