The rain started during my last lecture, and by the time I walked out of the building, it had become the kind that rendered umbrellas a philosophical gesture rather than a practical one.
I stood under the covered entrance with my bag pulled close and looked at the sky, which had committed entirely to its position and showed no interest in reconsidering, and I calculated the distance to the bus stop with the grim arithmetic of someone who has already identified that the answer is not in their favour.
My phone rang.
Marcus's number. I answered it.
"Mr. Vale wanted me to let you know," he said, with the particular tone of someone delivering a message they have been given specific instructions about, "that the weather has been noted and the car is available whenever you're ready."
"I was
