Chapter Eighty

"You came," Amiriam said, her tone hard but gentle, the way a low-burning candle never wavers.

Luke stood in the doorway of the back garden of the clinic, late-afternoon sunlight casting long shadows on the pathway of stone. Dust motes floated peacefully in the air, like tiny stars in the golden light. He nodded slowly, stepping forward as if the garden itself had beckoned him.

"I didn't know if I should," he said, thumbs stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket. His voice was hesitant, but optimistic.

Amiriam gestured toward the bench beneath the jacaranda tree. Its branches curved like a guardian's protection, spilling delicate lavender flowers that fell unobtrusively to the lawn below. "Let's sit," she said.

They walked side by side in a quiet that was not uncomfortable or cold. Only the leaves underfoot disturbed, and the distant hum of the city muffled by the garden walls. The songs of birds rang out in the trees above, and the scent of jasmine lingered in the air.

Amiriam sat,