It happened on a morning that gave no warning at all, which was, Ezra would think later, somehow worse than if it had arrived with dread building toward it the way the other losses had. He woke to find Lucien already awake beside him, propped up against the pillows, watching him with an expression that took several long seconds to correctly identify.

It wasn't confusion, not exactly. It was something more complete than that, more finished — the careful, polite wariness of a man waking to find an unfamiliar person in his bed and working out, methodically, how alarmed he ought to be about it.

"Lucien?"

"I'm sorry," Lucien said,...