She looks at Peter. “He brings me umbrellas before I even know it’s going to rain. I assumed it was attentiveness. He doesn’t like strangers but quickly warmed up to August. To me.” Then her expression softens with understanding. “You’d Seen me before you met me in Peter’s office.”
Antaris nods slowly, lip quivering.
“Did you See the furniture in the house?” Hiram keeps his voice as calm as possible despite his heart racing. “The paint? The drawings?” When the lights flicker, Antaris’s breathing quickens, tears threaten. “It’s okay.”
“Thank you for sharing.” Khadijah shifts so she’s sitting in front of Antaris.
“So much for that zero percent,” Peter mutters. “Can’t havepotentialfor something you alreadyhave.”
“May I?” Khadijah glances at Hiram before adding, “It’s not painful, but as a Sensitive, it might make you uncomfortable.”
Hiram has heard stories about Seers struggling during Sight manifestation. Anxiety. Nightmares. Heightened emotions and sensitivity. Every clue was staring him in the face. Guilt whispers thathe’s a bad parent, but Antaris reaching for him makes his inner turmoil fade into the background.
“I can handle it.” Hiram takes his son’s hand.
Khadijah nods, focusing on Antaris as she offers her hand. He takes it, eyes fluttering shut. “My uncle told me that he remembers the quiet space he went to when everything was overwhelming. Sometimes he still goes. I know you peek out to talk to August but retreat back inside. Are you scared to lose your safe space?”
Antaris nods shyly.
“It’s okay. It’s yours. We just need to open the door and give you a key.”
From here, her mouth moves, forming words Hiram can’t hear but canfeel. The air in the room explodes with colors and fragrances. It’s too much, too intense. He can’t focus on anything except Antaris, whose eyes are squeezed shut, hands clutching both him and Veda. Khadijah’s expression shifts. A wave of pure ozone hits Hiram, but he doesn’t buckle. A second wave sparks nausea that’ll only end one way. Antaris’s eyes fly open, irises glowing gold, and he gasps for air.
“I See his beginning. It was her end.” Khadijah’s eyes open, silver and fading, but her expression is troubled. Tears roll down her cheeks. “The hole in you is healing. Slowly but surely. It’s okay to never be whole.”
Antaris lets out a rough breath and grits his teeth, his head tilted back as if he’s fighting something trying to hold him down. He releases Hiram’s hand as if burned, then grabs him again as if he’s the balm to soothe the flames.
“I See.” Khadijah’s voice is melodic. “Every step is too much, too hard, too intense. Even touch.”
Hiram remembers all the flinches. The hesitation. The way Antaris curled into himself, shielding his body as if bracing for impact. He blamed grief. The fear of the unknown. Now he sees it was more; his son was at war with himself. A whimper breaks free from deep inside Antaris. His cheeks flush red, eyes blazing like the setting sun, but the unspoken anguish rips Hiram apart.
“You’re too young to know the weight of grief, but you’ve been carrying it in your heart. It’s too heavy. Too much.” Khadijah cups his cheek, her own eyes flashing briefly. “It’s okay to let it go. Just for now.”
When the dam cracks, it sounds like a cough. Then it crashes. Grief rushes in as tears flow out. No one is ready for the onslaught. A torrent of magic erupts, and Hiram clenches his jaw. The lights flicker. The hands of clocks spin out of control. August’s toy cars rise off the floor. It’s potent, visceral, and burns as hot as the sun. Droplets rain from the ceiling. They taste like tears and evaporate the instant they touch skin. The floorboards creak and bend. Hiram can barely see through the shimmering, searing heat rolling from Antaris, heat that threatens to burn everything.
It fades like the glow in his eyes.
Timing has been Hiram’s struggle, but it doesn’t fail him now. He catches his son as he crumples, pulling him close, letting him sob against his chest and fist his shirt. Hiram has spent hours,days, agonizing over what to do, what not to do, what might help, what might hurt. But in the end, it’s instinct, the need to provide refuge, that guides him. He picks Antaris up and carries him outside.
Hiram closes his eyes and lets his son feel it all. Every emotion that’s been trapped beneath weeks,months, of silence. Hiram can’t bring Grace back, but he can endure the fallout. Allow nature to run its course, all while reassuring Antaris that he won’t be swept away.
I won’t let go.
A mantra. A truth.
Only when the deluge has passed, only when his son’s sobs turn into sighs, does Hiram open his eyes. The world is so different from even this morning.
Antaris is asleep in his arms, face tucked into the crook of his neck, grip still tight. His breathing is deep and even. Hiram collects his broken, waterlogged thoughts until Veda drops to her knees before him. She says nothing, only swiping a thumb beneath one eye. Then the other. They’re wet. He never noticed.
“I need a few minutes,” he murmurs, trying to recenter himself in a world that’s shifted beneath his feet. “I know there’s a lot to discuss ...”
“Take your time.”
He’ll never be able to explain the relief he feels when Veda doesn’t leave.
Knowledge is a painful, double-edged sword.
August keeps throwing worried looks at the still sleeping Antaris, who is stretched out on the couch wrapped in one of his blankets. August sits close, keeping watch over his friend while sneaking peeks at the cartoons playing quietly. Veda seems to be on guard as well, though some of her vigilance is directed at Hiram, if the cursory glances and the grounding weight of her leg pressed against his are anything to go by.
