Helena glanced over toward him, her expression warm but cautious. “Was she in the service?” she asked softly.
Larkin nodded slightly. “We met on Atlantis. She was a civilian linguist —Ancient and Latin roots. She had this way of seeing patterns in languages I couldn't even grasp.” He smiled faintly. “And she couldn't carry a tune, but that didn't stop her from trying.”
Fairbairn softened. “What was her name?” she asked.
“Clara” Larkin replied simply.
The name settled into the air like a hallowed memory. Sister Helena bowed her head slightly. “May she rest in peace,” she said softly.
Larkin didn't speak for a moment. He nodded once, grateful. Bjornson stepped into the silence like a warm blanket.
“Clara had excellent taste. Glen Campbell is a universal truth.”
“Indeed,” said Larkin. “How about you, Sergeant? What music do you like?”