Mira holds up a hand — the international gesture for "please do not evict us yet" — and flips to the back of the guidebook with the focused urgency of someone defusing a bomb. The phrase list is arranged helpfully under headings: Greetings, Emergencies, Food. There is no heading for "We are sheltering in your chapel from a biblical storm, we mean no harm, the plaster fell on us first." She improvises. "Dobro… večer?" she attempts, which means Good Evening, which is technically accurate but feels wholly inadequate given the mop. Vesna's expression does not change. Alex, behind her, whispers "Try sorry" — his contribution to the diplomatic effort. Mira finds Excuse me, I am sorry in the list and reads it aloud with the careful diction of someone who failed French GCSE twice. A long silence follows, broken only by the rain. Then Vesna tilts her head: very slightly, the way a judge tilts theirs when a plea is not quite as stupid as expected.