“When I was young,” said Jakob, “I thought I was working towards something. Building to last. Some perfect state of things. Of the world. Of myself.” He gently shifted one leg under her, then the other. “You get to my age, you realise nothing lasts for ever. No love, no hate, no war, no peace. If a thing hasn’t ended … you haven’t waited long enough.” Sunny sniffed. “Is that meant to be comforting?” “It’s meant to be true. You had something. Be thankful for that.” Jakob gave a long, pained sigh. “Now you have to let it go.”
