Rhea arrived a little before midnight, summoned by a call from Amara that had taken exactly four sentences before she was already reaching for her coat, and I watched the two of them embrace in the doorway of a dead woman's reading room with the particular fierceness of people who'd assumed, for twenty-six years, they'd never get to do it again.
"You look like your mother," Rhea said to me over Amara's shoulder, the same thing she'd said the first day I sat across from her, except this time there was something different in it, something that had shifted now that the woman standing beside her was proof the resemblance ran both directions. "You look like both of them, actually. I never noticed that before. I suppose I never had the two of you to compare."
"Tell us about the working," Amara
