“Oh, I’ll – try the chai,” Elias said affably, because it smelled rather good. “And that’s alright,” he began, quirking a brow as if to inquire what she had done to her hand (a gardening injury, he assumed; having done more gardening in the last year or two than previously, he knew there were scrapes one could get into).

He slid a hand around the teacup and frowned very faintly, thinking of the letter that had brought him here. “I – if I’m honest, I don’t quite know what I’m here for.” Irene had left something for him here. That was – a lot to wrap his head around already, without having even seen what it was.

---