The clinic pavilion was quieter than the main infirmary. That was exactly why we had chosen it.

Malcolm carried the tray himself the porridge, the thinly sliced roasted gosling, the ginger ginseng soup still steaming gently under its lid. I carried the milk for the twins. Lira walked beside me, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, her breath visible in the cool morning air.

Nobody spoke much on the way over. We were all still carrying last night with us.

The sentinel at the door stepped aside the moment he saw Malcolm. Inside, the room was warm, softly lit. The twins’ crib sat near the window where the morning...