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Like the messenger who stands silent until bid onstage, Pilar waited until she caught Lupida’s eye before holding up the antique device. Lupida looked about and gestured to her to sit nearby. “Simon?” she asked quietly. Pilar nodded. “The text says, ‘They think it’s from a Medea.’” She slid the phone across the work surface. Lupida leaned forward to read the screen. “Is there a subsequent message?” she asked. Pilar took back the phone and swiped at it with a finger. She turned it to show Lupida its tiny display, which now offered a second text. The misery of the