Spring. Present day. One year after Edward’s releaseWHILE HIS MISSING YEARS, ALL ELEVEN OF THEM, HAVE CONGEALED in his imagination, this past calendar year has had texture, a clean arc and recognizable seasons. It represents a coherent passage of time for Edward. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Fifty-two weeks. Twelve months. The time it takes for the Earth to orbit the Sun.He looks very different now from how he did when he first came back. The shape has returned to his face, though it is leaner and more handsomely angular than it was before he disappeared. His hair and nails seem healthier and the tone has returned to his muscles, even if the vigour has not quite yet. As for his damaged teeth, they have been repaired with veneers that he is in the habit of grinding, but they look natural enough. The colour has returned to his skin, moreover, and it seems to be fitting him once more.He spends his days reading news reports and watching documentaries about the years he missed. He also keeps trying, and failing, to start writing a memoir about his time in captivity.
