The twins hold position. Flavio plants his feet shoulder-width apart — he has arrived at this stance entirely by instinct, but it is objectively excellent surveillance posture — and watches the breast pocket without blinking. Aurora mirrors him from the other side, hands clasped behind her back, ribbon bow listing gently to one side. The priest reads on: something about seasons, something about steadfastness. His delivery remains perfect. Only his glasses betray him — a single tremor — as Flavio, with the solemn deliberation of a scientist confirming a hypothesis, reaches up and very gently prods the pocket. There is an unmistakable crinkle. The butterscotch is confirmed. Aurora's eyes go enormous. She turns to Flavio. He turns to her. A negotiation conducted entirely in twin-language takes place over approximately two seconds. Above their heads, the bride's shoulders have begun to shake again. The groom is studying a point on the far wall with the absolute concentration of a man who must not laugh.