Silveria cried for a long time.
When it was over, she felt scraped out, like a bowl someone had wiped clean. She stayed where she was, her forehead on his shoulder, and listened to the waves. His shirt was soaked through. He hadn't moved once.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Your shirt."
"It's a shirt."
"It's a very expensive shirt."
"It's a very expensive shirt that was happy to help." His voice was dry, but it was soft too. "Do you want some water? Elena's staff left a bottle on the path. I saw it on my way here."
She laughed, a wet, ugly little laugh. "You noticed a water bottle while running to find me?"
"I notice everything. It's my worst quality."
"It's not your worst."
"No," he agreed. "That list is long."
She sat up and wiped her face with the back of her hand. He pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket and held it out without a word. It was white, with a tiny letter *C* stitched in the corner. She took it and stared at it.
"Who carries a real handkerchief?"
