It was a good thing too, because he had no appetite. He pushed his steak around on the plate, brooding. He didn’t know if it meant he was losing his mind, but he’d spent the last day with a ghost and now he missed him. He almost wished Jennings had been given one last night, so Ambrose could have had that time as well. The things Ezra wanted to ask Ambrose, the tales Ambrose could have told him of his life. What good would that have done, though? He’d only have gotten to know Ambrose well enough to truly pine over him. He set his fork down and cradled his face in both hands, finally willing to admit that he was in mourning. He hadn’t known Ambrose in life, but now it felt bleak without him. When at last he looked up, dragging his fingers over his face, a man was sitting across from him. Ezra blinked at him, his fingers still covering his mouth. “Ambrose?” Ambrose grinned lopsidedly.
