Within the banquet room, Davyeras’s voice rings out. “Thank you for joining us today. The Mageus Research Grant has a long history of—”
“I can start looking for him,” Orok offers. “Tell me where he might be.”
He’s poised, waiting for whatever I want to do. Always.
I’m going to miss him. I’m going to miss him so much.
“And this year’s project,” continues Davyeras within the room, “is an exciting collaboration presented by Mr. Sebastian Walsh.”
The audience applauds.
I adjust my glasses, blinking away the rush of heat in my eyes, and throw my arms around Orok in a quick, fierce hug.
“Thanks,” I say. “Check his apartment?”
Orok squeezes me tight. “On it.”
He jogs up the hall, but not before tossing a grin over his shoulder. “Present the hell out of your project, Mr. Walsh!”
Head high, an unavoidable vibration in my hands, I walk into the banquet room, and the audience claps politely.
This research, this project, has always symbolized healing for me. I didn’t think it was ever something I’d get, though. And it wasn’t something I got, not all at once—I got it slowly, the smoothing of a scar there, the stitching together of a wound here. Part of healing is growing again, too, even if it risks those scars stretching, even if the skin breaks back open.
But I know I can heal now. I can look at the wounds and think,You are not all of me.
Gods, there’s so much more to me. So many more fascinating, enthralling parts. And I canfeelthem, a feeling that takes my breath away as I climb the stage.
My eyes land on Thio’s family, front and center. They’re scowling, likely wondering where Thio is, why it’s just me up here.
Resolve is strength. Healing is anger and it’s sorrow and it’s calm certainty.
It’s peace.
Davyeras yields the podium to me. There’s already a copy of my paper laid out on it. Only my name is typed across it.
I rest my fingers on that line, then look up into the watchful, waiting eyes of the audience.
“Hi,” I say. The microphone squeals. “I’m presenting ‘The Proposed Effect of Energy Limitations on Material Component Usage.’ By Elethior Tourael and Sebastian Walsh.”
Chapter Nineteen
After my presentation, nothing else matters.
Arasne tries to intercept me. I beeline past her, and she scoffs, offended.
I also dodge Davyeras, Thompson, and Narbeth until I’m racing out of the banquet room and sprinting through Bellanor Hall, slapping open the rear door and pulling out my phone.
Orok texted that Thio isn’t at his apartment.
There’s only one other place he’d go: Blooming Grove.
I check the public transpo app. Traffic’s minimal right now, but it still estimates thirty minutes to get there, and I growl at my screen as I jog for the bus stop and mentally tally whether I can afford a rideshare—
“Mr. Walsh!”
I trip on the sidewalk and rebound off—Hordon?
Thio’s driver.
