The guest room was at the back of the safe house, above the kitchen.
Caleb stopped at the door at seventeen-fifty-eight.
He could hear his mother in the kitchen below. He could hear his brother laughing about something. He could not remember the last time he had heard his brother laugh. He stood outside the guest room and listened to it for a long count before he knocked.
Iris opened the door.
She had her coat on. She had the logbook tucked under her left arm. She had been planning to leave whether Caleb came up or not. She stepped aside and let him in and closed the door behind him.
She said, very quietly: "I'm going for a walk. He's been awake since fourteen-hundred. He has had water. He has not eaten yet. The list is on the bedside table. He is going to tell you to take it. Take it. Don't argue with him about whether you are ready. He will not tell you whether you are ready. That is not the point of the conversation. The point is the list. Take the list, Mercer."
"Iris."
