“Clever.” Tennyson sat back.
“It is.”
A video chat icon popped up on the screen.
Jack.
Of course.
He would have been copied on this information, too.
Before I could say or do anything, Tennyson accepted the call. “Jack, my man. You see this awesomeness?”
“I do indeed.” Jack’s clipped British voice filled the room.
His face flickered into view for the first time in nearly ten days. Tousled hair still damply askew. Shirt still unbuttoned and wet. Eyes still a glacial blue.
He never changed and, yet, I felt like everything had.
I was staring at the face of the man I adored. The man who was disappointed and frustrated with me. The man who didn’t want to be with me.
I hadn’t realized, until that moment, how much I missed him. How fully he owned my heart.
Jack’s gaze met mine.
His face remained impassive. Not a glimmer of emotion. Nothing.
He really had given up on us.
Something painful and sharp lodged in my throat. I blinked rapidly.
Deep breath. In. Out.
I forced my emotions back. If Jack could act so unaffected, I could, too.
“It is fascinating,” Jack continued. “May I share my screen with you?”
“Absolutely.” Tennyson clicked and changed some settings. Jack’s face moved to the corner of the screen while the images Claire had sent over loaded onto the page.
The four scanned pages glowed at me. Each was covered in lines and boxes. I sat back, tapping a finger to my lips. The images made no real sense.
“All four pages are like this, though one page has what might be writing,” Jack said.
I instantly saw what he meant. I reached across Tennyson and double-clicked the file, opening it. I zoomed in and suddenly words appeared, written in elegant Italian:
My namesake will light the way.
Huh.
That was unusual.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Tennyson asked, leaning forward to scrutinize the writing.
“I am equally baffled,” Jack said. “The text at least is discernible. But the lines and boxes have no clear meaning.”
“It does seem haphazard.”
We studied the pages for a moment, each with a puzzled look.
