After Julian left for home that night, I stayed in the workshop. I told myself I was just tidying up before locking the door, but my hands kept drifting toward the things Simone had touched. I found myself stopping at her worktable, my eyes drawn to the thimble she always kept in the top right corner, just where her hand would naturally reach for it. It still sat there, as though she had only stepped away for a moment and would be back before the kettle had time to boil. Beside it was the tiny ...