His gauntlets were cold where he cupped her face. When he realised she was crying he started as if spooked, leant back, felt his own throat close and swiftly turned all in one to charge ahead of her. Not quite trusting his voice, frowning and gritting his teeth, baffled and frustrated with himself.

He threw open doors before her, not needing her directions when—even with the helm tucked under his arm—he could feel every vibration of movement in the villa, every hushed word and creaking floorboard.