“We don’t always get what we want.”
“No, but I am patient and willing to wait for what I want.”
“Which is?”
“Everything or nothing. I won’t settle for something in between or beg for scraps.”
Out of habit, Hiram has been alone for years. Not lonely, there’s a difference. He’s okay with being alone, but sometimes, he wants more. Day by day, it’s become increasingly obvious to him that the more he wants isher.
The walls around Veda could block out the sun, but she’s lonelier than she realizes, and more vulnerable than she’ll ever admit. Her fight-or-flight reaction looks like his, which is probably why Hiram can see the cracks in her facade. She can pretend and avoid reality, but at her core, he wonders if she wants what everyone wants—even him.
Genuine, human connection.
Hiram turns on the television for background noise and sits beside Veda on the sofa. She shoots him a sharp look but doesn’t ask him to move. The kitten leans over, pawing at him. Veda scratches behind his ear, the motion halting when the evening news begins.
“Good evening. You’re watching theFriday Night News. I’m Finn Clark with breaking news. Reports of a serial killer are emerging from the FCD today. Known as the Botanist, with twelve victims, all from the Seer community, the killer now poses a danger to everyone. Please be on the lookout for ...”
A picture of Dr. Simpson flashes on screen. Veda swears, and Hiram shares the sentiment.
“Dr. Everett Simpson, a Seer who works as a veterinarian at Weston Academy, just outside of Proventia. He is a person of interest and potentialsuspect in the case. Do not engage. He is considered dangerous. If you know anything, please contact the Investigator Department of the FCD.”
No mention of Everett’s curse.
“He’s not a suspect,” Veda says more to herself. “Fuck, this is going to put a target on every Seer’s back. Parents at the school.Students.”
Hiram mutes the television. There’s tension in the silence that has nothing to do with them.
Veda calls Peter, but he doesn’t answer. “He’s probably going to be late. Sorry for intruding.”
“You’re not. I can take you home if you’d like.”
“I don’t want to disturb Antaris.”
“You can stay here. I’ll sleep on the sofa and take you home in the morning.”
The look she gives him is but a flicker. “Okay.”
Hiram isn’t sure when Veda falls asleep, probably while he’s reading and she’s petting the kitten. Hiram picks her up, carries her into his room, lays her on the bed, and removes her shoes without rousing her. She sleeps like the dead. Odd, for someone so paranoid. He keeps his room cool at night, so he covers her with a blanket, grabs a change of clothes, and heads to shower. After he’s done, he checks on Antaris. The kitten has made his way back into the cat bed, and the lantern emits a soft glow. Once he looks in on Veda, who sleeps soundly, Hiram finds a blanket and a spare pillow, then settles on the couch with a book, too wired to sleep.
But there is a different feel in the air tonight. Quiet. Steady. Rain falls and thunder rolls. The house feels warm. Full. Alive. The earth’s sigh lulls Hiram to sleep.
Twenty-One
Veda doesn’t remember falling asleep. When she opens her eyes, dawn is approaching. Light paints the horizon outside, and the sky is empty, the stars tucked away in the wake of a new day. Still groggy, it takes her a minute to realize she’s not in her bed, nor is she at home.
This shocks her awake.
The bedroom looks professionally designed, from the oak furniture to the monochrome accents. No plants. No unnecessary clutter. Neatly stacked books on the right nightstand catch her eye, classics, from the look of it, and a book on sign language.
A bedroom can reveal a lot about a person. But Hiram’s confession that this isn’t a home he intended to keep makes her wonder whether this is truly who he is or just who he pretends to be. Not that Veda has spent a single minute thinking about him beyond cataloging her disdain.
A small part of her calls out the lie.
Honesty makes Veda uncomfortable. It demands vulnerability, risks rejection, and disrupts her illusion of competence. Each time she talks to him, she can blame the ease with which truths spill out on something simple yet complex: She can no longer ignore the humanity of one man. Where does that leave her? Veda doesn’t know, but she opens the door to find out.
Padding down the hall, she’s careful not to disturb anything. There’s a throw and a pillow neatly stacked on the couch, the only signs Hiram slept there. Now, though, he’s in the kitchen with the phone to his ear,speaking quietly. Most of the time, when she sees him, long sleeves and pants conceal what’s on full display this morning in the comfort of his home. He’s dressed in gray sweats and a white T-shirt, and his tattoos remind her that he’s more than the monochrome picture he presents. The replica of her amulet stands out. The irony of her only sentimental possession being inked on his skin isn’t lost on her.
“Thanks, John, I’ll let them know.” He hangs up and turns. “You’re awake.”
