Lena did not let go of either hand.

The room had gone dark except for the plate of window and the dull mirror. Rain made a thin, steady sound on the slates. The clean sheet under her was cold at first, then not, where her palms had been.

Owen’s circle on her knee stopped. His fingers spread, higher, still over cloth, and the heat of him came through the black trousers as if the cloth were only an argument he had not finished.

Jude’s hand in hers turned. He set her knuckles against his mouth and waited.

“Ask,” he said.

Lena looked at Owen. Owen’s eyes were dark in the...