The Observer does not look away. Looking away is no longer an option — it is a luxury, like sleep or lapel pins, and look how that ended. Flavio is still staring at the gull, the boutonnière wand raised at half-mast, his lips moving in what is either a greeting or a formal declaration of intent. The gull tilts its enormous yellow beak. It appears to be listening. Aurora, sensing opportunity in her brother's distraction, shifts one soft half-step sideways — toward the flower arch. The Observer's hand shifts with her, still cupped around the birdseed fist. She looks up, betrayed. The Observer gives the smallest possible shake of the head. Flavio takes one deliberate, sock-sliding step toward the arch. Then another. The gull watches. The ceremony continues at the altar. The organist plays louder. Something is about to happen, and it will absolutely involve a gull.