Fiona exhales. Sets down her tea with a single perfect clink.

"I believe so," she says, and Alistair -- all his excuses extinguished -- sets down the dishtowel he'd been using to dry off the plates. Silently, he takes a seat next to Ivette, leaving a chair empty on his other side for whenever Cullen returns.

The silence stretches an extra few beats as Fiona gathers her thoughts.

"You must understand," she says at last. "When I tell this -- I am still not entirely certain, to this day, what particular confluence of magic and chance and -- " A swift glance to Alistair. "Even you, perhaps. How that all came together to stop my Calling. I have my suspicions, but even Weisshaupt couldn't pinpoint the exact cause." A dry smile. "I suspect there would be far more of us who avoided our Calling if they did."

She folds her hands behind her mug.

"So I'll tell it as completely as I can, and I hope you'll forgive me for what seems like meandering."