Vesna has reached the word 'connected' and is visibly preparing to savour what comes next, when a shadow crosses the chapel doorway — too quick, too purposeful. Lightning catches it: a silhouette, there and then gone. Alex, who has excellent instincts for exactly the wrong moment, stands up. 'There's someone out there.' Vesna's pause is geological. Mira is already on her feet, guidebook tucked under her arm like a shield. A single footprint in the mud just outside the threshold points toward the cliff path — someone retreating fast, in this weather, on purpose. Alex goes first into the rain, because of course he does. Mira follows, clapping her hat to her head with one hand. Behind them comes the slow, inevitable scrape of a mop being retrieved from an altar. Nobody, it seems, leaves Vesna's story in the middle — apparently not even Vesna.