Soren returned from class with a problem he hadn't possessed when he left.
Mona was at the door before he reached it. She focused on him above all else; he was her singular point of reference.
What was not normal was that she wouldn't come inside.
She bumped his ankle once, turned, went three steps toward the courtyard, came back, bumped his ankle again.
"I just sat through two hours of bond theory," Soren said. "Whatever you found can wait."
She did not think it could wait.
She went to the threshold and pressed her blunt face against the cold floor, staying perfectly still.
For Mona, this meant she was listening to something deep underground.
Selah was sitting at the reading table, her hands wrapped around a mug that had long since stopped steaming.
"The tea's gone cold again..." she said, nodding toward the window where the draft was strongest.
"And she's been doing that since you left. Pointing, resting and then pointing back again."
"Pointing at what?"
