The gelato vendor sets down his ice-cream scoop with the deliberate care of a man who has made a decision. He looks at Aurora. He looks at Flavio. He looks at the empty lamppost. He asks no questions. He crouches, offers each twin a hand, and says, simply, "Upp. Kom." The return journey takes three times as long as it should — Aurora stops to examine a pebble, Flavio insists the boutonnière is pointing toward something important (a cat) — but the vendor is patient, and eventually the great oak door of the Church of Lysekil swings open again. Twenty-five heads turn. The organ trails off mid-bar. The vendor stands in the doorway with a twin on each side, still wearing his apron, with the expression of a man delivering something rather than apologising for it. Somewhere below in the harbour, a bell rings, distant and cheerful.