"It works," she said. "I'm bored with it."
They were sitting at Serena's kitchen table. A seed catalogue lay open between them, its pages crowded with varieties Elias could not distinguish. June wanted to grow food with the community garden and measure which plants survived the shaded beds. There would be fewer wires. She sounded faintly apologetic about that.
He asked whether she wanted advice, help carrying things, or simply someone to hear the plan.
"Carrying things. And maybe money for labels."
On Saturday, they walked to the garden with a bundle of wooden stakes. A retired nurse named Dev assigned them a bed beside a wall. June knelt in the soil while Elias carried compost from the gate. After his third trip, he suggested an easier route for the wheelbarrow. Dev explained that the apparent shortcut crossed a plot planted yesterday. Elias thanked her and took the longer path.
June grinned without looking up.
By lunchtime, her notebook contained a drawing of the wall, the times sunlight reached each section, and a list of plants donated by neighbors. One woman had brought seeds in envelopes labeled in a language June could not read. June asked her to write the names again beside the English descriptions, rather than replace them.
They ate sandwiches on overturned buckets. Elias's phone vibrated twice. He checked that neither call was urgent, then silenced it. June noticed.
"You can answer," she said.
"I know. I told them I was unavailable until three."
The distinction seemed to satisfy her. She passed him the crisps.
In the afternoon, a younger child broke two labels by pressing too hard. June started to snap at him, stopped, and fetched spare stakes. She showed him how to mark the soil first. Elias watched without trying to turn the moment into a lesson about anything beyond the job they were doing.
As they packed up, she asked whether he was disappointed that the new project was less technical.
He looked at the shaded beds, the notebook, and the names she had carefully copied.
"It seems to need plenty of attention," he said.
She considered that carefully before she answered, then handed him the empty compost sack. "Good. You can come next week. The weeds won't wait for your schedule."
Chapter 26
The Answer That Stayed Incomplete
The enforcement letter arrived two years after the storm. It described decisions reached about particular records and people, identified matters proceeding further, and explained why other allegations could not be established from the available evidence. Elias read it with the final review report beside him.
He had expected relief to feel more decisive. Instead, he found himself checking whether a narrow finding would be mistaken for permission to deny everything surrounding it. Adrian had already issued a statement emphasizing the matters that would go no further.
Helen called to ask whether Elias wanted to comment. He said he needed time to read. She gave him a deadline and explained that she would publish whether he responded or not. He appreciated being treated as a source rather than the owner of the story.
He rang the investigator with one factual question about an entry in his statement. She answered within the limits of what she could discuss. He thanked her, then asked himself what additional call he was imagining making. There was nobody he could persuade into supplying an ending that felt exactly right.
That evening, he met Ruth for dinner. She let him explain the letter, interrupting only when she needed a name clarified. When he finished, she asked whether any of the operational safeguards depended on every allegation being proved.
"No," he said. "The service findings stand on their own evidence."
"Then don't let somebody else's statement merge the questions again."
He wrote a short response for Helen. The public should read the actual findings. He would not speculate about private evidence or claim that an unresolved allegation had been established. The airport's documented service failures and obligations remained matters of public record.
Helen quoted two sentences. Online comments demanded stronger declarations in opposite directions. Elias read several, recognized the familiar pull, and closed the page.
Later, June sent a photograph of their garden bed. Something had eaten half the leaves. Underneath, she had written: Current suspect has six legs. Investigation continues.
He laughed aloud in the empty flat. Then he called her and asked whether she wanted him to bring netting on Sunday.
The letter remained on his desk overnight. In the morning, he placed it in the filing box with the other records. He kept the reference number where he could find it. There was work left to follow, and there was breakfast to make before it.
Chapter 27