Thomas woke with his head in a woman’s lap. Not a woman’s. A girl’s. Her luminous, almost lupine gray eyes looked down into his as she wiped his temples. It was hard to focus—everything looked blurry. Something moved behind her, and he thought he saw wings. He had trouble remembering the last time he had seen her, yet it seemed very important that he should. “You left wildflowers,” he said. “What?” she said, smiling. He slept.
