The exasperation was hardly hidden, though it softened to sympathy when Uriel brandished the great peacemaker: wine.

“She just wants to see you take proper flight, Uriel.”

Far, far away. Alright. Maybe that was just Zech.

“Study,” Zechariah repeated, with no small amount of relief, and patted him on the shoulder. “Perfect. It should be sundown soon – you can see the stars come out from the study’s window.”

Fair enough. He could handle Shabbat with one brother, even if it was the loud one. No sooner did he think that than did he hear another knock. The butler would get it if he left it long enough, but it was an excuse to flee Uriel.

He opened the door, blinked, and tilted his head with a skeptical look. Was Crane Jewish? Then his eyes hit the papers. Oh, right. Holiday did not mean he could escape his work (more like he escaped into it), and this location 'coincidentally' made poking around painfully convenient for an ongoing case.

“Good evening, Mr. Crane.”