I touch the crest. Cold. Familiar.

"Don Juan. You there?"

Silence. Nothing.

The keyhole opens. Like lips. It whispers my real name.

"Don't answer," Bukh says. — hic.

I don't. But the door knows I heard.

The scratching stops. Salt spills out. White. Clean. Wrong.

Bukh steps back. Sways.

"That's new. — hic — Didn't do that before."

"Before?"

"Three days ago. Just scratching. No salt. — hic — No name."

He looks at me. Drunk. Not stupid.

"You did something. — hic."

"I didn't."

"You heard. That's enough."

And from the darkness — a voice. Patient.

"Finally. The duke has come home."

Bukh freezes. Flask halfway to his mouth.

"Duke? — hic — You're a duke?"

"Complicated."

"Always is. — hic."

He drinks. Wipes his mouth.

"Getting Sera. Stay here. Don't answer. Don't move. Don't do anything stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like being a duke. — hic."

He leaves. Door creaks shut.

"Don Juan. You there?"

Silence.

"Fine. I'm here. Now what?"

The voice answers. Older.

"Now we talk."