I force a smile that I know doesn't reach my eyes. "Hey, Sharnia. Sorry, I've been…" I gesture vaguely at the cluttered garage around me. "Busy."
Her expression shifts, concern flickering across her features. But before she can respond, there's a commotion behind her.
"Is that Noah?!" Reginald's voice booms, and suddenly three dragon faces are crowding into frame.
"Noah!" Amethyst shrieks, pressing her purple-scaled face so close to the camera I can count her scales. "We miss you so much!"
Raelia appears beside her sister, quieter but no less excited, holding up a piece of paper covered in crayon drawings. "I made you this! Mom's going to mail it, but I wanted to show you first."
My throat tightens. These kids. God, I love these kids.
"That's beautiful, Raelia," I manage, and my voice only cracks a little. "I can't wait to get it."
Reginald leans in, all teenage swagger. "Dude, when are you coming to visit? My new tutor is terrible. He doesn't even let me listen to music during homework."
"The horror," I say dryly, and he grins.
For a few minutes, I let them chatter at me about their new school, their friends, the food court near their apartment building that Derryn swears is better than anything in the US. They're settled in. They're happy.
And I realize, with a sinking feeling that settles like lead in my stomach, that they've moved on.
Not in a cruel way. Just in the natural, inevitable way that families do. Their lives are full and busy, and I was always just one piece of it. An important piece, maybe, but ultimately replaceable. Because I was never truly a part of their family. I was always just hanging around the edges.
The thought should hurt more than it does. Instead, it just feels hollow.
Sharnia finally shoos the kids away with promises that they'll talk to me again soon. The background noise fades. She leans closer to the camera, her blue eyes sharp.
"So," she says gently. "Are you excited about Drakesmere?"
I open my mouth to deflect, to offer some cheerful platitude about being great, but the words stick in my throat.
"I'll start in the fall." The words come out steady, but it feels like I'm slicing pieces of my flesh as I speak. "The program is incredible, Sharnia. Extensive literature curriculum, advanced placement tracks, a real community of educators who care about the work. It's everything I've ever wanted."
I hear myself selling it, listing the benefits like I'm trying to convince someone.
Maybe I am. Maybe I'm trying to convince myself.
"I'm taking the weekend to think it over," I continue, "but I'm ready. I'll call Headmistress Varrin on Monday."
There's a pause. Sharnia tilts her head, studying me through the screen.
"That's wonderful, Noah," she says slowly. "But are you okay? There's something bothering you, I can tell."
The question catches me off guard. I look away from the camera, down at the dusty workbench, at Gramps' tools hanging in their perfect rows.
"I will be," I say quietly. "Once I move on. It's just hard letting go of this place."
It's not a lie. Not exactly. Itishard letting go of Saltford Bay, of Gramps' house. Of a life with Rika and the kids I was stupid enough to believe in.
"The position is everything I could want," I add, injecting enthusiasm I don't feel into my voice. "Big city, great school, challenging work. It's a fresh start."
Sharnia doesn't look convinced. Her gaze is too perceptive, too maternal.
"If you're sure," she says carefully.
"I'm sure," I tell her, and the words taste like ash.
The sound of tires on gravel saves me from whatever she might say next. I glance toward the garage door.
