The afternoon sun draped itself across the courtyard in long, golden bands, catching the rough texture of the stone walls and the fine cracks that had been there since before Dominic signed the deed.
He sat on the old wooden bench pushed against the eastern wall, right where the chalk line from Florence's first training session had faded to a ghost. Most of it was gone now. A few faint streaks still clung to the stone, stubborn.
The back door opened and Florence stepped out.
She'd changed into a fresh shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, her damp hair pulled back in a loose tail. The faint scar along her jaw from the angel's beam was still visible, a pale line that hadn't been there before the raid. She crossed the courtyard with the easy stride of someone who owned every space she walked into and dropped onto the bench beside him, close enough that her shoulder pressed against his.
"You're brooding," she said.
"I'm thinking."
"Are you thinking about the tokens."
