There’s intense comfort in my own clothes. My soft sweatpants, my faded hoodie. We’ve moved again, deciding that staying with Murdock was too much of a risk. We’re in another of Amun’s strange, run-down apartment hideaways.

I’m comforted by the grandmotherly charm of this place. What could harm us when a bird-song clock announces the turn of each hour with the call of a chick-a-dee or the hoot of an owl? The bookshelves are lined with porcelain angels and crystal ...