Page 117 of Wells

"No industrial kitchen? No reclaimed wood floors?"

"Nope."

"And you're okay with that?"

I look out the window at the city sliding past. Familiar buildings, familiar streets, but with a new perspective.

"I've never been so content about a step down."

Locke grins and taps the steering wheel.

"Annoyingly serene. Told you."

He's quiet for a block, then his tone shifts to something more careful. "Have you heard anything from Wells at all?"

"No. And that's how I want it."

He nods, eyes on the road.

"What happens if you run into him somewhere now that you're back?"

I almost laugh.

"Locke. The man doesn't go anywhere. His office, his tower, the elevator in between. He's the last person on this earth who's going to wander into any place that would intersect with my world. And I'm not getting back on the platform, which I will not mention."

"Fair."

"We both laugh, and it surprises me how easy it is.

"My, how things change," he says.

"They really do."

Locke carries the smaller duffle, and I haul the backpack into my temporary home for the next week. The room smells like lavender, and the natural light is perfection.

Locke sets the duffle down and looks around.

"You brought back less than you left with."

"Didn't need much over there."

"And yet somehow you seem more put together than when you left."

I smile and drop the backpack near the bed.

"Thanks for this. For helping coordinate everything."

He waves it off.

"I'm three blocks away if you need anything. Dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Text me. Let me make sure the jet lag and general whiplash of going from there to here doesn't cause a heart attack."

He hugs me once more, quick and solid, then leaves. The door clicks shut behind him.

I stand in the middle of the room and take it in, then walk to the window and look out. A woman pushes a stroller below on the sidewalk.

Then I smell it. Cigarette smoke drifts up from somewhere below. For one breath, it becomes Wells.