Jon can't keep returning Martin's gaze for long, not while the echo of my Institute rings so obvious and loud. They both look away at exactly the same moment. Jon digs his fingers into the couch cushions.

He can't see what happens in Elizabeth's mind, but he knows her well enough now to hear it ticking. Nothing pleases her more than efficient outsourcing, and she likes the idea that she can get someone else to keep the Eye happy while she devotes more of her time to pollution and cataclysm.

"That's the downside of diversification," she acknowledges. She taps her manicured fingernails on her knee. "I'm not opposed on principle. I don't make business decisions based on grudges — it's petty and old-fashioned. You seem to have a similar — oh, excuse me." One of her hands flutters to quiet the soft buzzing of a phone. She pulls it from a pocket of her blazer. "Sorry. If this phone rings, it's urgent. Hold that thought."

Jon wants to change plans. He doesn't want to be alone with Martin. But there's no way to communicate that to Elizabeth now: she's in full flow. She stands and grabs her teacup in one hand, phone wedged between shoulder and ear, leaving one hand free to grab the door. "Hi, no, of course it's not a good time. Talk, please..." The door closes behind her and her voice becomes inaudible. The silence blankets them like snow.

Jon realises he's holding his breath. He exhales in a soft rush. It feels like fighting against a weight around his neck to bring his gaze up to Martin's face. He does it anyway, though it causes slight tremors of effort.

"I..." He swallows. "I didn't mean to surprise you." His voice is as neutral as he can make it.