Mira's hand completes its journey. The guidebook opens with a sound that, in the silence between two thunderclaps, carries the moral weight of a cathedral bell. Vesna does not raise a finger this time. She simply stops. The thermos hovers halfway back to her pocket. The candle flame, as if briefed in advance, does not flicker. Alex becomes intensely interested in the bottom of his cup. "1887," Mira reads, voice admirably steady. "The bell tower of Saint Sava's chapel collapsed during the earthquake of March 14th—" She stops. Vesna's eyebrow has achieved something architectural. Mira clears her throat. "The bishop's cousin," she continues, with the careful tone of someone defusing something, "is described here as a man of considerable means." She looks up. "He wouldn't owe a stonemason money." Vesna refills Alex's cup without being asked. "Now," she says, "you are asking the correct question."