Saul had not detected much of a change in David’s attitudes since Jack’s death, save for the way he’d begun to linger after their meals. He was avoiding his room, still furnished with two beds, Jack’s side of the walls covered with sun-bleached posters and bulletins; they had shared a room since they were little boys. In those moments—in David’s pale, smoothed face—he beheld both sons, who had always looked like twins. He had admired the ease David and Jack had about each other, though the thought filled him now with the weight of sand.
“Mom’s sleeping.”
David had read his thoughts. Priya had retreated upstairs after their silent dinner without saying goodnight. Saul tried to think of something to say, coming too late. David had already turned and gone the way he’d come, back to his room. Saul paced the rest of the house. He thought about quitting his job. They had savings enough to pay David’s tuition, wherever he wished, a luxury that had been afforded them by Jack’s death. Saul wondered when it would not pain him to think so logically. He mounted the stairs, turning off to the first door on the right, spying David and Jack’s room at the end of the hall. In the dark, he made out her form among the blankets, fumbling with his clothes. She was awake—he could tell by the rigid hunch of her shoulders.
“Priya.”
She didn’t answer. Saul slid into bed beside her. Not after he lay there awake for at least an hour did he notice the house was silent that night; David snored loudly when he slept.
The next week, a second and third nova, a husband and wife, sublimated within seconds of each other in a Pennsylvania mill town; their house, lit from every window with brilliant white light, had been set aflame by the event, and burned for half an hour before firefighters arrived. The next day, the UN announced plans for a registry; now assumed to expire within the near future, those affected would be able to apply for funds in a manner similar to life insurance. The registry required a death certificate to issue payments, igniting outrage around the world: who was to say any of the novas were really dead? Religious groups theorized a process akin to the biblical rapture, though disagreements among faiths and a lack of evidence in either direction did not move conversations beyond conspiracy. Several novas emerged in protest, refusing to be sent to the Great Basin and other facilities. State legislation could not move fast enough to evict them lawfully before they, too, sublimated. A more practical solution emerged, shuttled by an unexpected spokesman: the Spanish shipping baron, King Terzian II. A controversial figure in Europe and person- al friend to the ruler of Bahrain, among others, Terzian and his businesses had been the subject of a number of inquiries by the World Court in the previous decade. Nursing a bruised reputation, he had emerged back in the public eye to address a crowd of hundreds from the steps of Madrid’s City Council one month after Bek Ki-Jung’s sublimation. The world as it was, he explained, could not address the issue of SDR phenomena as long as the bureaucracy surrounding the UN council remained intact. There were options, he insisted, that lacked the conclusive efficacy for governments to risk investment. He paused, gazing down at his hands. “My wife,” he said, and nothing more for several moments.