She seemed to be looking in a mirror that somehow made the both of them switch places. Last time they’d been in the same room, it was Irene who had been hunched over in agony, hadn’t it? And somehow Mr. Iago had made it all go away. She’d felt good after that; excellent from what she remembered, and it was all thanks to Mr. Iago, the man who was now in a near fetal position at her feet.

Irene might have recoiled at the surprising venom in his voice, but the gratitude she felt for this man who she’d only encountered once held her back from completely turning away. So instead, she sighed and crouched down, her skirts pooling out around her in a puddle of light linens as she tilted her head at him. “Are you in pain?” She kept her voice low still, as if he were a frightened and wounded animal.

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