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Cowes glanced at the paintings. “I have no eye for art. I’m sure what you do is... adequate.”

“Adequate?” Rane gritted his teeth.

“Who is the female?” Cowes pointed at the sketch Rane worked on.

Rane studied the unfinished drawing. “My muse.”

“What’s a muse?”

Rane stared at the sketch of Nell. He still wasn’t sure how he needed Nell in his life; he just knew she had to be there. “She’s my inspiration. She helps me channel my passion.”

“She sounds like a bad influence.”

Rane snorted. “She’s anything but. Nell is extraordinary.”

“Is this muse real?”

Rane nodded. He’d never felt so inspired to create art until he had these images of Nell in his head. She’d let something loose in him, and he needed to pursue it. He needed to pursue her.

“I suggest you stay away from her. Your mission here is not to create these daubs of paint and black marks. It’s to ensure our diplomatic mission goes smoothly.”

“Has there been a complaint?”

Cowes sighed. “Not yet, but I watch you. You grow more distracted with every meeting. I know what’s discussed is not of interest to you, but you must remain focused on Councillor Agrave.”

“They talk in circles and look for reasons to fight.”

“Which is why we cannot slip up. There have been too many near misses. If we allow one of these sessions to fail, it will reflect badly on us.”

“I won’t do that.”

Cowes clasped his hands behind his back. “Rane, you have a great life. You’re well-paid, you have a nice home, and you have a future and prospects as a diplomatic support advisor. Give it five years, and you could have my position if you want it.”

Rane couldn’t think of anything worse. It wasn’t that he hated that he didn’t have to worry about money and could buy whatever he wanted. It all felt hollow. None of it held any meaning.

When he looked into his future, he didn’t see himself as an uptight manager, looking after a team of support advisors. He saw himself living near a beach like the one on Earth, taking a walk along the sand every day, and spending his time creating beautiful things.

“From your lack of comment, I’m guessing that isn’t your plan.”

“I’m happy that your work makes you content,” Rane said. He pointed at the paintings. “This is what I live for. I’ve never hidden from you that I enjoy painting.”

“Sadly, you haven’t. I’d rather I didn’t know about it.”

“Then you wouldn’t know me. You demand honesty in your sessions; that’s what you get.” As part of their training, Olickie underwent monthly debriefs. It was like therapy, a way to shed the pent-up emotions they grabbed hold of during tense meetings.

It was important they released those emotions for their own stability. In those sessions, Rane often talked about his art and how it made him feel, despite knowing Cowes thought art was worthless.

“You have a real gift. It’s rare to find an Olickie with such an easy way with diplomats. You barely feel the impact of interacting with them and taking their negative energies. You hum a few notes, and all is well again. We don’t all have it that simple.”

“I don’t take that gift for granted.” Rane looked at his paintings. In a way, he did. He’d be even better if he focused on his ability and ensured he was grounded. It was the main reason he found himself getting distracted during the dull meetings he attended. His mind wandered onto things that interested him. If he had better focus, he would be excellent.

“You’re coasting.”

“I do okay.”

Cowes was silent for a moment. “It’s happening again.”

Rane made a show of dusting the charcoal from his fingers. “What do you think is happening?”