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I glance at the notebook.

Anya has drawn a series of squares, with numbers written beneath them.

“She has been asking about patterns all morning,” Elle says. “We were going to see whether we could find any around the house, but I promised not to turn it into a school assignment.”

Anya looks at me hopefully. “Can we go outside later?”

“Not today. You can go into the garden tomorrow if the weather is good, but I want you both to rest this afternoon.”

Anya sighs. “You say that about everything.”

“Because you have a remarkable talent for turning ordinary activities into opportunities for injury.”

Elle presses her lips together.

I look at her.

“No,” she says, glancing at Anya’s notebook. “Well, Anya is nothing like you.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask sharply.

Elara looks up, surprised by my tone. Anya’s pencil stops moving. “She enjoys my company,” Elara says. “You keep looking like you’re about to ask me to leave.”

I loosen my grip on the chair. “I haven’t asked you to leave.”

“Then we’re making progress.”

I should be annoyed. I almost let my paranoia get the better of me. Instead, I find myself smiling. “Finish your numbers, then let Elle rest,” I say.

Anya returns to her notebook. Elle looks at me over the top of her glasses. I hadn't noticed them before. Thin, dark frames. They suit her. Far too well.

“Are you always this bossy?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“At least you're self-aware.”

I leave before I say something that would encourage her.

An hour later, I am walking past the guest suite when I hear a muffled curse from inside.

I stop. Another sound follows, something falling against the floor.

Then Elle says, “Oh, you've got to be kidding me.”

I knock. “Elara?”

There is a pause.

“I'm alive,” she calls back. “Just losing a fight with a shirt.”

I look at the door. “Do you need help?”

“No.” A moment later, she adds, “Possibly.”

I wait. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, but if you laugh, I'm leaving a terrible review of your hospitality.”