Twilight turns Alcuin's white hair to a vision of lavender and periwinkle, where he's standing in the grass, head cocked to listen to the clattering of the crickets. Quiet and pensive, he stares thoughtfully into one of the train car mass-graves, wondering if any of the bodies bear the faces of those in Travelers' memories. If he were to enter, would he find Phèdre among them?

Shivering, he drifts down the verdant stretch between fences and absently pausing near the mausoleums to listen to others' conversations. But he can't bring himself to linger or focus for long without companionship.