Augustus picked me up at noon the following Saturday.
He wore a navy sweater and dark trousers, casual by his standards. I'd chosen a grey dress and comfortable flats.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
He drove into Shorebridge's cultural district and parked beneath the Maritime Museum.
Right. Museums.
I could do this.
Inside, Augustus led me to an exhibition on nineteenth-century navigation. Glass cases held brass instruments, logbooks, and hand-drawn charts.
He stopped before an astrolabe.
"They measured angles between celestial bodies to determine their position," he explained. "No satellites. Just mathematics and observation."
"Impressive."
He glanced at me. "You're not interested."
"I am. It's fascinating."
And it was, in theory. But the gallery seemed endless, every instrument accompanied by another dense plaque.
