They retreated to the director’s office where there were no exterior windows to draw the attention of the outside world. Garrick sat at the desk, studying the journal with Mara gazing over his shoulder. “There must be something in these passages I couldn’t translate,” Mara said. “Some way to make your freedom permanent.” “These sections are written in Welsh,” Garrick said absently. “My mother’s family came from Wales. I think perhaps I will be able to read them given time.” How much time did they have? Mara rounded on one heel and made two strides toward the opposite side of the room before the sudden movement caused lightheadedness. She stopped and teetered on the heels of her sandals. “Whoa,” she said, stumbling to the leather sofa, which lined one wall. Garrick leapt up from the desk chair and made his way to her side. “Are you all right?” His devouring eyes searched her face as he grasped her hand. “Yes.” She tried to reassure him with a smile but she suspected it wavered.
