Theron tried to make sense of her notes.
She was writing about colors when she described the stones, not in the broad careless way most people used the word, but with the kind of precision that suggested she could see shades others did not even know existed.
He had never heard anyone speak about materials like that. It should have seemed strange to him.
And yet, for some reason, it did not.
Or perhaps it did, only not enough to feel unfamiliar.
A faint rustle sounded beneath the bed, but he scarcely registered it. His attention remained on the parchment, on the cramped lines of her handwriting, on the proof of how seriously she had been working.
Slowly, almost absentmindedly, he removed his shoes and lifted one leg onto the bed, then the other, settling more deeply into the mattress while she continued talking from behind the divider.
