The painting absorbed the light without giving it back, the lilies holding their shape in the quiet room. Penelope stood near the frame, aware of the man who had not clapped. When the gallery emptied, the space seemed to shift, as if something had been left unhandled.
The chair remained slightly pulled back from the table, one leg not fully straight. The folded paper stayed where it had been left, unopened. The latch rested against the frame without catching, as the room settled around it.
The amulet lay half-hidden under damp leaves, its blue surface uneven in the light. Thomas turned it once in his hand and carried it back without deciding why. Later, the room felt.