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“How was that going?”

“Poorly.” She glanced sideways. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel better.”

“You’re telling me so I know I’m not failing at it.”

“You’re getting faster.”

Althea steered them around a tourist cart. “That wasn’t only the laughing women. Who else was out there?”

“The man from the square. I passed him twice. Both times the loneliness spiked.”

“Tor knows?”

“He knows the pattern. He doesn’t know today’s yet.”

Althea’s pace did not falter. “Tell him everything. Both times, where you were and which direction you had come from. His version won’t have the detail yours does.”

“He’s going to tell me he already has most of it.”

“He will. Tell him anyway.”

They turned off the boardwalk. The cobblestones came up underfoot, steadier than the boards, with the ward lines running clean and quiet. The café was half a block ahead. “I have a coffee already,” Mirelle said. Althea eyed the cup. Cold. “You have a cup.”

“Fair point.”

The Margot cohort was on the windowsill. Not at home, where she’d left them. Mirelle regarded them. They gazed back, serene, like creatures with a plan they weren’t apologizing for and she hadn’t been consulted about. “I left you at home.”

The Margot cohort blinked at her. Rowan sat on the copper counter in her usual spot, mid-assessment of the morning’s cork collection. She didn’t so much as turn her head. This was, Mirelle had decided, as close as Rowan came to trust. Valene removed the cold cup from Mirelle’s hand without asking, replaced it with a warm one, and pointed to a seat. Mirelle sat. Althea dropped into the chair across from her and said nothing as Mirelle gathered her thoughts. Althea was good at that: she let you find the words rather than handing them over.

“He was on my route twice, and the loneliness came up hard both times. I didn’t stop to question it. That’s what I do.” Mirelle stared at the table. Valene and Althea exchanged a glance.

“Tor’s working on it.”

Althea pushed half a pastry across the table.

“My blood sugar —”

“Mirelle.” She ate the pastry. Rowan approved from the counter.

“Is he following me or positioning himself where he knows I’ll be?”

“Both.” No cushioning. “He knows your patterns. The boardwalk is where you go when you’re struggling, and being near you makes it worse.” Mirelle went still, thinking. The walks she’d been taking for weeks — the ones she’d been telling herself were healthy, self-care, what a woman managing her situation did. She’d gone back the following Tuesday, and the Tuesday after that. “He was using the boardwalk because he knew I’d be there.”

“Yes.”

“Right.” She held her coffee. “That is extremely annoying.”

“It is.”

“I would like to register a formal objection to being someone’s emotional weather target.”

Althea’s mouth moved. “Noted. The objection is valid.”

“Thank you. I’m not going back there alone.”

Althea’s expression went quiet and warm. “Good.”

“That took me about thirty seconds.”