Page 12 of Wild Thorns

"The part of a company that people see first."

"Yes. First impressions. The visual promise of what they're going to get."

"And you like it?"

I thought about it. Really thought, which I didn't usually do when people asked.

"I like the problem-solving," I said. "Taking something complicated, a company's values, their goals, their personality, and finding a way to communicate it in a single image. It's like translation. Finding the visual language for something that exists in the abstract."

He was quiet for a moment. The rain drummed on the roof above us, steady now, almost peaceful.

"That's a good way to think about it."

"Most people's eyes glaze over when I start talking about visual semiotics."

"Most people aren't paying attention." He said it matter-of-factly, without judgment. "They hear 'design' and think decoration. They don't understand that it's a language."

I turned to look at him. In the dim light from the house windows, his profile was all angles: sharp jaw, straight nose, the glint of his glasses. He was watching the storm with the same focused attention he'd given the breaker panel, as if weather patterns were another system worth understanding.

"You get it," I said. "The language part."

"I work with symbols. Old ones. Family crests, territorial markers, the visual shorthand that meant something several hundred years ago." He paused. "It's not so different. Finding the image that carries the meaning."

"Territorial markers?"

"Historical ones." But he said it a beat too late, and I filed that away. Another slip, like Jasper's pack. Another door that opened and then closed.

"What do you do, exactly?"

"I'm the family historian. Archivist." He adjusted his glasses. "I keep track of records. Old documents. Family history. The connections between things that happened centuries ago and things still happening now."

"The stories Lila mentioned?"

His gaze sharpened. "What did Lila tell you?"

"Just that people talk about your family. Old families in old towns." I shrugged. "I didn't ask for details."

"But you wanted to."

It wasn't a question. I felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing.

"I notice things," I said carefully. "Professional habit."

"What have you noticed?"

The rain fell. Lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating his face for a split second.

"That your brother Callum watches me like a hawk," I said. "That Jasper said 'pack' and then pretended he didn't. That your mother looked at me like she recognized me, even though we'd never met." I paused. "That you're asking questions like you're testing what I'll say."

He didn't deny any of it.

"You're very observant," he said.

"Is that a problem?"

"No." He adjusted his glasses. "I think it's exactly right."

"Exactly right for what?"