Harry grabs his laptop from the kitchen counter and settles back onto the couch with a cup of black coffee, buzzing with a sudden boost of determined adrenaline as he browses Sotheby’s catalogue. He’s about to make an offer on a pair of Victorian botanical engravings—maybe he could give them to Molly or Andy for Christmas, or maybe he could put them on the empty shelf in his spare room—when his phone buzzes against the arm of the couch, pulling him out of the zone.