The compact was sitting in the open, which was almost worse than if it had been hidden.
Val had come into the room looking for the file he had misplaced, a minor irritation between his brow, and the moment he crossed the threshold his eyes went to the vanity the way eyes go to something that doesn't belong. It was small, gold, catching the afternoon light with the particular smugness of expensive things. He crossed to it without thinking and picked it up.
There was an engraving on the interior lid. For the light you carry everywhere. — M.
He stood with it in his palm for a long moment. Through the window, the garden lay in its late-season stillness, the hedges trimmed and shadowless in the flat October light.
He closed the compact. Slipped it into his jacket pocket. He did not look for his file after that.
