Alex digs into his chinos and produces the last crisp packet with the solemnity of a peace offering. He holds it up without turning, then pats the step beside him. The pause that follows is the longest in Kotor since the Venetians debated the fourth wall. Then the Moped Kid comes down — not shuffling exactly, but deploying the minimum dignity available to a teenager outwitted by a guidebook. He sits. He accepts the crisps. He sets their bag between them without being asked. For thirty seconds nobody speaks. "Salt and vinegar," the Kid says, inspecting the packet. "Why do British people like this." "We're not British," says Alex. "Close enough," says the Kid, and opens them anyway. The Kotor Cat relocates two feet nearer. Mira reopens the guidebook. The bag is back. The crisps are almost gone. Up on the ramparts, a pigeon has claimed the abandoned moped as sovereign territory.