Even though he’s still incredibly frustrated, it’s clear that her words of comfort make a difference. He looks up at her, feeling very much believed in. It makes more of a difference than he would have thought, once, when he was still working on his own.

“The last thing I remember . . .”

His instinct is to say Candlenights. But that’s not right. There’s something else. He remembers what he’s talked with the others about — how time might work differently here.

He closes his eyes. His brow furrows.

“I think I was going to talk to someone. I was worried . . . and mad? It was—”

Candlenights? He opens his eyes.

“The last night of Candlenights.”