The theatre was Bennett's idea, and Noel had agreed to it, much like he agreed to most things Bennett suggested — not because he was convinced, but because the alternative was sitting in a room alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts were not good company right now.
Tomorrow was the last day.
He had not forgotten that. He could not forget it. It sat in the back of everything — every conversation, every moment, a quiet and insistent pressure that did not go away when he looked at something else. It was just there. Waiting.
He sat back against the carriage seat and watched the city pass outside the window and thought about Rowan on the floor of that cell and the plan that was supposed to work and the question of whether it actually would.
He thought about the half-name and the masked man in the passage, the hands on his wrists, 'Joel is dead, he's gone' — delivered in a voice he still couldn't confirm, still couldn't place with certainty.
He thought about tomorrow.
