Still, he stood. “I’d rest easier knowing you’re comfortable.”
So would I, but not for the same reasons.
I nodded, because pushing would turn this into something I wasn’t ready to untangle. “Okay.”
He hesitated, then took my hand and squeezed once. “Good night, Artemis.”
“Good night,” I replied.
He disappeared toward the living room, and the cottage settled around me, soft and quiet and full of unanswered questions.
I lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling, my thoughts looping but slower now, less sharp.
He hadn’t said he didn’t want me.
He also hadn’t said he did.
Somewhere in that gray space, my heart hovered, uncertain but still very much awake.
Which was, unfortunately, exactly where it had always been most dangerous to leave it.
20
ARTEMIS
My phone buzzing on the nightstand yanked me out of sleep.
I flailed for it, nearly knocking it to the floor. My heart raced, brain fog thick enough to qualify as a weather event. The cottage was dark and quiet.
I squinted at the screen.
Percy.
I sat straight up.
“Hello?” I croaked. “Percy? What’s going on?”
“It’s eleven here,” he said without preamble. “I didn’t want to wait.”
That did not help my heart rate.
“I sent you the photos,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face. “From the Writer’s Museum. Is this about that?—”
“I didn’t expect them tobe real.”
I cleared my throat. “Define real.”
The bedroom door opened, and Arthur stepped in. He was already dressed. He took one look at my face and the phone and sat down on the edge of the bed without asking, close enough that I could feel the mattress dip.
“Percy is calling,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Arthur said calmly. “And I believe I know why.”
I frowned at him, then put Percy back on speaker. “You’re on speaker. Arthur’s here.”
“Good,” Percy said. “Because I was about to sound unhinged. I recognized the era and region of the illustrations on the compass,” Percy said. “Not precisely. But enough to narrow it down. I sent images to a colleague.”
My stomach flipped. “You sent them to who?”
