Darlington nods, understanding the faint and familiar note of frustration in Palamedes' voice as he finishes what he's saying. "Context gets lost. Hell, events only a few centuries old are still ripe with conjecture sometimes. You can't always have all the answers, it seems." His smile is wry as he makes the turn onto his street; a lack of answers has never been an easy thing for him to accept, and he suspects the same is true for Palamedes.

He guides the car between the stone pillars marking the entrance to Black Elm's long drive, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as they make their way up to the house. After so many months, it's slipped back into feeling routine, but there's still a part of him that holds its breath a little, afraid that somehow the house he loves will have vanished again as quickly and mysteriously as it appeared.