A moment later, Abel appears at the door. His eyes fall to the book, and his expression shifts, as if it was a small child that Javert had wounded, not an inanimate object. He picks it up and smooths the pages, folding the covers together, his touch loving and gentle. It is clearly something he cherishes.

And then he fixes Javert with a glare. His voice is tight, his words terse.

'Sir. I have clothes for you, sir. And the bath is prepared. As is your meal.'