Flavio makes the decision with one purposeful blink. He slides off the pew. Aurora follows immediately, because that is how being a twin works. Uncle Gianni's hand shoots out — then withdraws. Stopping them requires noise; noise is worse than whatever is about to happen. The twins process up the aisle in what they clearly believe is perfect stealth: wide, deliberate steps, arms out for balance, Flavio's loose sock whispering against the stone. Twenty-seven guests find their order-of-service pamphlets suddenly fascinating. The Harbour Gull watches from the flower arch without judgment. Flavio reaches the priest's robes and tilts his entire face upward toward the breast pocket. Aurora flanks from the other side. The priest, mid-sentence on partnership and grace, continues speaking. His delivery does not waver. Only the very faintest tremor of his wire-framed glasses betrays that he is aware of the small, solemn surveillance operation now underway at chest level.