The cottage was pleasantly warm despite the raging blizzard, but even with its sturdy stone walls and bits of oil cloth stuffed into every crack Wilde could find, a draft would occasionally slip through - under the door or from some hidden cranny Wilde hadn't discovered yet.

While Emery brooded, Wilde mixed the milk, honey, and spices in a saucepan, warming it over the fire until it was just shy of bubbling.

He was sure he wasn't mistaken at this point, though he doubted that's what Emery had in mind when he trudged up here. But chasing ghosts left you seeing them in the strangest places - Wilde certainly had no place to judge. Emery's cheekbones and mannerisms had left his own mind wandering to better days with Captain Arvid. Maybe they both weren't thinking clearly.

When he'd finished and poured, Wilde stood unnecessarily close at Emery's side, proffering the cup.

"You do seem tense," he noted. "Is this a problem?"

Whatever 'this' was, or was going to be.