Uncle Gianni is now two pews away. One pew. He moves with the careful precision of a large man trying very hard not to be noticed by a small boy, which is to say he looks exactly like what he is: a man on a mission, moustache at battle angle. Aurora spots him first — she has the peripheral vision of someone who frequently needs it — and goes perfectly still, birdseed suspended in her fist. Flavio, wand still trained on the Hat Lady, feels the change in the air and darts a glance backward. His expression cycles through surprise, recognition, and the specific brand of toddler calculation that asks *can I still get away?* The Hat Lady watches all of this with the patience of a chess player who has just seen five moves ahead. Uncle Gianni's hand reaches for Flavio's shoulder — and finds only a small gap of air where a boy used to be.