“Aw, no way,” Mel said, craning her neck. “You’re not seriously working right now?”
“It’s just notes,” Riya said quickly, angling the page away.
“You’re allowed to be a human being, you know.”
“Not right now, I’m not.”
“How about this?” Kian stepped in. “For every ten minutes of work, you have to spend ten minutesnotworking.”
“Why would I agree to that?”
“Because you’ve been running on fumes since... well, probably forever.”
Riya opened her mouth, but no words came. He wasn’t wrong.
“There isn’t time for rest,” she muttered. “You of all people know that.”
After they’d left the bookstore, his nose had bled for nearly ten minutes. No matter how many tissues theypacked against it, it wouldn’t stop.
“I know.” Kian’s smile was soft. “But half a day won’t kill you.”
But it could kill you, a cynical voice said in the back of her head.
“Plus, if you don’t agree,” he continued, “you don’t get to see the amazing lunch I made us.”
Mel gasped. “Us? You mean me, too?”
“Hell yeah.” Kian gestured to his backpack. “Top-tier sandwiches. I even cut the fruit into shapes.”
“You’re my new best friend,” Mel declared. “After Riya, obviously.”
Riya inhaled, filling her lungs with the crisp autumn air, faintly sweet with the scent of fallen leaves. But it didn’t untangle the dread twisting through her thoughts.
“Wanna race up the steps?” Kian asked, bouncing on his toes.
“But I’ll get all sweaty!” Mel protested.
“Andrew’s here. You were gonna get sweaty anyway.” He turned to Riya, smiling. “I can’t even remember the last time I came to the museum. You did good, Professor.”
The praise landed on her, unexpectedly warm.
Before she could reply, Kian took off with Mel—both of them cackling as they raced up the stairs.
The three of them explored the museum together, weaving between clusters of tourists and stopping to point out theirfavorite pieces. Sometimes, Kian and Mel made up ridiculous backstories about them.
“This artist was totally intimidated by this lady,” Kian said, gesturing toward a somber portrait. “See how he usedchiaroscuro?”
“Do you even know whatchiaroscuromeans?” Mel asked.
“Of course. It’s the thing with the shadows and... stuff. Right, Riya?”
“More about contrast, I think.” She was barely paying attention. The dry museum air tickled her nose, but beneath that was the itch she couldn’t shake: time bleeding away, faster and faster, while they wasted precious hours on oil paintings. Part of her had hoped that maybe the museum would have a peri artifact, but she supposed life never worked that neatly. Plus, what would a peri artifact even look like? A mummified broken heart, maybe?
They moved on, laughter trailing behind them, until they found Albert Gleizes’sWoman at the Piano:A cubist figure built of cold knife cuts and tilted planes, a chaotic smear of white and blue against bright red. She sat upright at the keys, taut—as if a chord were being held too long.
Kian slowed, his breath hitching.
Riya nearly bumped into him. She followed his gaze to the fractured figure.
