Jason hummed a note that finished Mateo’s laugh and squeezed his hand. “You keep messing with the flowers,” he said, quiet enough that only Mateo could hear. “They’re fine.”

Later, as the night folded in and the guests thinned, they found themselves by the wrought-iron gate that framed the courtyard. They climbed onto the low stone wall, shoes dangling, and watched the city’s lights shimmer like another constellation. A taxi rolled by; someone hailed it, and the signal’s flare cut across the dark.

“Where would you go, if you could pick any place?” Mateo asked.