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Kenton Hill suddenly didn’t seem so miraculous as the light faded. The copper and steel works lost their gleam.

Even with the waning daylight, the townsfolk had not slowed. The laneways kept their frenetic pace, and I was shocked to remember there was no curfew here, not like the ones imposed elsewhere. Even so, a particular buzz wove its way from conversation to conversation as we passed.

“Jack, are you headed to the meetin’?”

“Meetin’s at eight, you dunce, not seven!”

“Another meetin’? Not that I’m complainin’.”

I frowned. “What meeting?” I said without looking at Patrick.

“Town meeting,” he offered. There was a cigarette between his lips that he lit with a flourish. “At the hotel.”

“Run by you?”

His eyelids seemed heavy. Smoke billowed from his lips. “In lieu of the chairman.”

“And what’s the meeting about?”

He shook his head minutely. I got the impression that I exhausted him. “The usual,” he said. “The coming winter, food rationing. Mostly people come to complain, and then we fix whatever’s broken.” He talked about it like it was a millstone he was tied to.

I squared my shoulders. “I’d like to go.”

“I bet you would.” He said no more, just puffed on his cigarette.

I gritted my teeth. “I’ve got my own complaints to air.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” He looked skyward as he walked. The floating lights were beginning to spark to life of their own accord. For a moment I was distracted by the improbability that they should exist. “It’s beautiful,” I admitted, trying not to sound too complimentary.

Patrick watched me as though I were mystifying. I wished he’d stop. I was trying to keep my blood cool, my pulse slow. I wanted my wits about me, and they were quick to scramble in his presence.

Was it just that he was dangerous? Had I become one of those desperatewomen clamoring to feel alive? Wasting in idleness so severe that anything thrilled me?

How pitiful. And yet.

Perhaps it was merely his looks—not clean-cut, but intense. It struck me anew with each glance. A sharp, vicious beauty. The destructive kind. By day’s end, I’d be peppered through with shot.

Maybe it was just the tether I’d kept with the Patrick of my youth. The softer Patrick, the skinny kid with dirty hair. Glimpses of the boy made me more sympathetic toward the man.

“Whatever your grievances, you can write ’em in a letter and send them to me,” Patrick said now.

I stopped on the path. Patrick took two strides, then turned to me with apparent irritation.

“Why can’t I come?” I was fully aware of how petulant I sounded.

“Because you ain’t a resident,” he said, stamping the cigarette beneath his boot. “And your face will distract the entire pub from the agenda.”

“I’ll sit in a dark corner, then.”

“You’ll sit in your room,” he said. “And I’ll have a doctor come see you.”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Nevertheless, you’ll see one.” Already he was walking again. “You’ve had your time on the town, exactly as you asked.”

I scoffed. “Did you truly think I’d be placated byonesmall outing?”

“And what a fine outin’ it was,” he said grandly. “I bought you tea and cake.”