He slid the terrace door open and stepped back inside.
Sarah was exactly where he had left her, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. The glass of water was empty beside her, her eyes closed in a rhythmic focus. In his five-minute absence, she had apparently decided she might as well start practicing.
Camilla hadn't moved. Her red eyes remained fixed on Sarah with the quiet, intense scrutiny of a self-appointed supervisor.
She glanced up as Stan walked in.
"She is doing well."
"She is."
"She has a steadier mind than I expected."
"She's always had a steady mind."
Camilla's lips curved, just a fraction. "That is clear."
Stan crossed the room and sat on the arm of the opposite sofa. He watched Sarah for a long moment—the steady rise and fall of her chest, the furrow of concentration between her brows, the faint, shimmering warmth beginning to settle into the air around her as her perception locked onto the current.
