Daniel made lunch because Silas had accepted an invitation to the inn, and because leaving food out of it would have made the meeting feel stranger.
Fish stew, bread, something hot enough to need a few minutes before eating. He put the bowls on the same table they'd used in September. Ruth was in the office. People were at the bar. He hadn't arranged witnesses as carefully this time; the inn had become the only place where he could meet Silas without feeling either trapped or exposed.
Silas arrived with his coat unbuttoned.
“You look better,” Daniel said.
“I am.”
“How much?”
“Enough to come here.”
He sat. The movement still cost him something, but he hid it more successfully.
Daniel sat opposite.
They ate before speaking about November. Silas was hungry. Daniel watched him break the bread with his right hand, a slight hesitation before the healing forearm took the pull.
“Good,” Silas said.
“You've said that before.”
“It's been true before.”
Daniel wanted to enjoy it. He did enjoy it, and hated that there wasn't a clean way to separate one feeling from the next.
He put down his spoon.
“I'll give it back.”
Silas stopped eating.
“The twenty-fourth.”
“Yes.”
“You've decided.”
“Yes.”
Silas looked down into the bowl, then towards the window. Daniel could see him trying not to show relief.
“Where?”
“The room.”
“Not your house.”
“No.”
“All right.”
“Same time. Just before midnight.”
Silas looked back at him.
“You're saying this very easily.”
“It isn't easy.”
“What changed?”
Daniel rubbed his thumb against the side of the spoon.
“Nothing changed. That's the problem.”
“You don't want another night.”
“I do.”
The admission brought Silas's attention sharply onto him.
“I think about it all the time,” Daniel said. “I can't smell something without remembering what it was like. I go outside and look at how far things are.”
Silas nodded slowly.
“Then why give it back?”
“Because I knew him.”
He didn't say Jonas's name. He didn't need to.
“I knew him and I went after him. There isn't anything missing I can put it in. No blank part where I stopped being myself.”
“You can learn.”
“From you?”
Silas's expression tightened.
“I've learned things.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at the forearm.
Silas put the bread down.
“Is this a punishment?”
“What?”
“For me.”
Daniel could feel the line beneath his clothes though he wasn't wearing it. The high bank, the ledge, Leah standing where he couldn't see her.
“You wanted it.”
“I did. I do.”
“Then it's what you want.”
“And you carry whatever happens.”
Daniel looked at him.
“I know.”
The old arrangement returning, except Daniel would know every part of it now. Silas could hurt himself and come to Daniel while the night still held. There would be no surprise in the hand, no question left to answer.
Silas leaned back.
“You could stay in the room.”
“For the return.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
A small silence.
“Where would you be?”
“Outside.”
“Why?”
“Because I won't lie in bed waiting.”
Silas watched him.
“Near the river?”
“Near enough to come back.”
Daniel didn't offer more. He'd imagined this conversation many times and in most versions he'd said too much, explaining until Silas could see the shape beneath the invitation.
“You wouldn't have to go far,” Silas said.
“I won't.”
“You can still change your mind.”
“Yes.”
The possibility hurt. He could, right up to the moment when wanting would have to become action. He could keep the night, let Leah walk away from the post, lock the door and take the wolf into the woods.
Silas picked up the spoon again, then put it down.
“You're frightened of me.”
“Yes.”
“You weren't, for a little while.”
“I was. Not always.”
Silas smiled faintly.
“No. Not always.”
Daniel saw the room above the carpet shop, the soup, the way Silas had listened when he tried to describe the trees. He would miss having someone who knew what the memory meant. That loss sat beside the greater loss, shameful and real.
“You don't get Leah,” he said.
Silas's smile went.
“I haven't asked for her.”
“You did.”
“I asked her. She answered.”
“I'm not promising anything about her. Not for this.”
Silas looked offended, and Daniel was glad. Offence gave them somewhere less intimate to stand.
“I didn't think you were selling her,” Silas said.
“Good.”
They finished the stew.
Ruth came past to take the empty bowls. She glanced at Daniel, then at Silas, saying nothing except that she hoped they'd liked it.
“Very much,” Silas said.
Daniel wondered whether he would remember the last meal he had made for him. Whether it would be this one. The thought made the bread in his mouth dry.
Outside, Silas walked with him as far as the corner.
The day was cold and bright. Daniel had left his coat in the kitchen and regretted it immediately.
Silas turned towards him.
“I won't leave you out there.”
Daniel looked at him.
“If something goes wrong. I won't.”
It was almost tender. It might even have been true. Silas could hunt him, hurt him, come back human and mean it when he said he was trying to help.
Daniel had stopped needing him to be simple.
“The room,” he said. “Monday night.”
“Until Tuesday.”
“Yes.”
Silas offered his hand.
Daniel stared at it, then took it with his right.
No bare chest. No power moving. Only a handshake on a pavement, chapped skin, a warm grip.
Silas let go first.
Daniel went back into the inn.
Ruth was at the counter with the bowls.
“Finished?”
“For now.”
She looked at him.
“Put your coat on if you're going out again. You look frozen.”
He took the bowls from her.
“I'll wash these.”
“Somebody else is doing that.”
He set them down.
Ruth waited until he moved away. Then she went back to her office, and Daniel stood by the kitchen door with nothing useful in his hands.