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Our friendship. Or whatever we used to have.

Quentin looked up and seemed more reserved than before. Closed off.

“You should go now, before Harlow comes back.”

I swallowed. Not because of Harlow, but because of what was slipping further and further out of my hands.

“See you,” he said and walked backward, with a nod.

I nodded too, even though I wanted to beg him to stay. A stupid thought, which I immediately banished from my mind, or at least tried to.

“See you...” I repeated his words, but he had already turned and left the courtyard.

For a while, I ignored Buddy – who was digging in the snow somewhere near me – just staring after Quentin until he disappeared around a corner, staring on, as if I hoped he would come back. And with every second, my heart contracted further.

Only now did I realize how much I missed texting with Erik, philosophizing about all kinds of things, exchanging mythological theories. But most of all, I missed our inside jokes, how we wished each other gods who would be with us when times got tough, how we compared our everyday lives to Olympus and the underworld.

I wanted to smile, but at the same time, tears welled up in my eyes.

I missed his character, how he could make me smile and forget, how he made me feel a little less lonely. I missed his humor, his closeness...

What had I done? Had I really killed the only happiness in my life?

My hand wandered to my belly and I gently stroked the bump.

This was our child.

I took a deep breath, trying to regulate my breathing.

He would never get to know this child.

But what if it was possible for J and him to be friends again?

Chapter 52

Quentin

Hysteresis

Angus MacRae

As always when I followed the snakes, as described in one of Dad's old books, I ended up in front of Director Alarik Copeland's office.

Frustrated, I slammed the book with its many missing pages about the town's history – written in barely decipherable Umbrien script – shut, and, as always, dust fell out of the book, swirling wildly in the sunlight streaming through the Gothic windows.

What if the word nyser didn't mean snake? What if the Vanderwood Archives didn't even exist? What if I had deciphered something wrong?

It could just as easily have been another vision noted down by someone who had used Umbrian to put themselves into a hallucinatory state and predict the future.

I didn't even know how to obtain this ingredient, whether Umbrian had to be produced or whether it was a botanical substance.

Basically, I knew nothing. And all because those goddamn Councils had destroyed everything in this town that had anything to do with Umbra.

With growing frustration, I looked up from the leather cover of the book to Alarik's office door, which, as always, was locked.

I was certain that the director of Vanderwood hadn't placed his office in the middle of some archives of forbidden literature.

There had to be something I had misread, which only increased the dissatisfaction with myself.