But here was Grant now, a message that consisted of his physical being. A chance for Varian to repair what he’d broken when he’d climbed into that boat. An invitation to walk forward into a trackless shadowland, a place whose existence might be defined by their occupying it. Varian didn’t dare make a move or a sound; he scarcely dared breathe. Half-dreaming, he willed a square of sun to avoid Grant’s face. The sun obeyed. Grant slept, and Varian kept watch.
