At first, Ellis assumes it is not his book.

It has not yet occurred to him to be worried about what he'd left for Wysteria. If she has misplaced it within the house, it will turn up in the course of Fitz's re-cataloging of the library. And if it does not—

Then it is gone, like all the rest. (Is the book an heirloom simply because it is the only thing that Ellis carried out of that house with him, forgotten in his back pocket?) He tells himself it is not important. It was an undeserved boon to carry it with him for so long.

But there is a sharp, undeniable pang in his chest when he lifts the book from where it has been laid beside his satchel and mace and recognizes the title. For a moment, it is hard to draw a breath. His hand passes gently over the newly-applied paper, the carefully replaced spine, before he puts the book into his satchel.

When he crosses the garden, his hand settles between Wysteria's shoulder blades before he leans down to drop a kiss to the top of her head.

"That was very kind," he tells her, without continuing: and undeserved. "I'm grateful."