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“Five things you can see, Cora,” Zeno’s voice cut through.

I forced my eyes open. “Clouds. The vase. My bracelet . . .”

We worked through the entire exercise along with another, and by the end of them, the brief trip was nearing its end.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, giving Zeno’s hand a small squeeze.

“For?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Being like this, I guess?”

Zeno’s gaze darkened, and he clenched my hand. “Don’t apologize for an ounce of yourself. After all, I lo—” he cut himself off, growing beet red, and cleared his throat. “I, um, am fond of every aspect of you. Anyhow, you put up with my moods.”

I lo—?It was impossible not to finish the sentence in my mind. I tried to tame my racing heart, to remind myself it was probably just a slip of the tongue.

But would it have been so bad if he said it? Would it have been a sin to have said even more?

“Thank you for helping me through this. It means a lot to me.Youmean a lot to me, moods and all.”

Just as I finished, the jet faltered, its wings catching, then forcing its way through a pocket of hot air. My stomach flopped as we began our descent, and Zeno squeezed my hands. “Five thi—”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’m all right. Going down is kind of the opposite of the part of flying I hate.”

He narrowed his eyes, overtly skeptical, but loosened his grip when my breathing evened out. He gave a small huff from his nose and smiled. “You make very little sense, you know.Thisis the part I despise. Then again, I suppose you’ve never landed in a private lane, have you?”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re going somewhere rather remote, far out from any city. But I promise, the rough landing will be worth the destination.”

I tried semisuccessfully to squint out the window at the rapidly approaching landscape. True to Zeno’s word, the land was a plateau, mostly barren of houses, right along the coastline. Altopiano delle Murge, if memory served correctly, was the Italian name for this rocky coastal region.

I wondered where on earth we could land with all the olive trees and grass, but it was only a few more minutes before I found out. The jet circled around a few times, bucking irregularly as it caught pockets of hot air, then closed in on a loosely manicured gravel road.

We touched down on the rocky ground, and the jet jerked once violently, then evened out with the skillful hand of the pilot. My vision blurred for just a moment, but the shaking was over before I could go into anything.

Zeno gave my hand a small squeeze and pulled his balaclava back over his head as the jet whirred to a stop.

Sunlight poured in as the door opened, and Zeno held out his hand to me. “Are you ready to see where we’re staying?”

Chapter 35: Appoggiatura

“Oh.”

The house itself was small, remarkably so. I knew the region was famous for itstrulli—small, cone-shaped huts made of stacked limestone that historically housed rural peasants. Even so, I had become accustomed to the realm of the Italian nobility, with ornate columns and stained-glass windows in lieu of one-room, windowless dwellings that were theorized to be designed with tax evasion in mind.

Stranger yet, thistrullowas the middle building of a cluster of three, and thetrullion either side of it were in different states of disrepair. The westernmosttrullowas mostly reduced to rubble, with hoary roots embedded within it. The easternmosttrullohad been more recently felled, but it had still been decades since it was in a livable condition.

I tried to hide both my disappointment and confusion, but they must have been evident, as Zeno laughed. “Just wait,mia passerotta,” he said, giving my hand a small squeeze.

Despite its rustic exterior, thetrullohad been outfitted with a modern set of locks, and it took Zeno quite some time to work through them all. As expected from a windowless, airtight hut, the inside was pitch dark. He entered without hesitation, and I did my best to follow his footfalls. Who knew what was in there, after all? There could be countless valuables to accidentally step on, or some tapestry to slip on.

A previously unseen lantern flickered on, impressively illuminating the entire interior. It was practically without decor—bare brick walls, untouched slab floors, and a simple cot within a curtained alcove. Would it even be large enough for the both of us? In the center of the room was a low, dusty coffee table that appeared on the verge of collapse over an equally disheveled rug.

Before doing anything else, Zeno locked the doors behind us—the digital lock, dead bolt, and two latch locks.

“Bit excessive, don’t you think?” I muttered mostly to myself. “Not much to protect here.”

Zeno chuckled and repeated, “Just wait.”