Chapter 164

• The train curved through the countryside, the motion gentle enough that the tea in the paper cup between my palms barely rippled. I had been watching the fields for so long that my eyes had started to blur the shapes together—patches of pale gold, deeper green, and the occasional glint of water catching the sun. Julian sat across from me, sketchbook open, though I could tell from the way his pencil hovered that he was drawing more in his head than on the paper.
• “Do you ever think about how many places we pass without knowing anything about them?” he asked without looking up.
• “All the time,” I said. “It makes me wonder how many stories disappear because no one stops long enough to listen.”