He notices Thio, who steps up beside me.
Dad goes silent, looking at me in question.
His demeanor is throwing me off. He’s cautious and careful and I almost do an identification spell to be sure someone with actual emotion hasn’t taken over his body.
“This is Thio,” I introduce, dazed. “My boyfriend.”
Thio’s head whips toward me.
That’s the first time either of us has used that word.
And it had to benow,of course. When I can’t feel the importance of it.
Mom peels back from me and digs in her pocket to free a packet of tissues. As she dabs at her eyes, she turns to Thio with a polite smile and extends her hand. “Hi, Thio. I’m Abigail, Sebastian’s mother.”
He shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs.—”
She sucks in a breath. Of recognition.
And drops his hand to gape at me, her brows coming together in utter—horror?
“This isElethior Tourael,” she states.
Unease itches the back of my neck. “Yeah?”
“Tourael,” she says again, and gods, the utter irony. Months ago, she’d stood in almost this exact spot and said that name reverently, thrilled I’d be working with aTourael.
Now she’s looking at me in disgust, glaring at Thio with all the rage I once showed him.
It adds another layer of confirmation about why they’re here.
I step in front of him, hands in fists. “What do you want?” I demand it of her, and my dad, who hasn’t moved from the couch.
“Abby,” Dad says.
She sniffs and bites her lips together, but retreats to the couch.
Dad stands once she sits. Like they’re taking turns.
“We have some things we’d like to discuss.” Dad eyes Thio. “In private?”
“He’s not going anywhere,” I say. “Whatever you think you’re going to get from this, I promise, it won’t—”
“Sebastian,” my dad says. “Give us five minutes. That’s all we ask.”
He’s towering over the room like he always does, a massive force of presence. But it doesn’t feel threatening this time.
I don’t know what impact this will have but I know I don’t have the resiliency to endure it.
Or.
Maybe I do.
Thio touches my arm and I immediately link my fingers with his.
Dad’s eyes glisten. It’s a fist wrapping around my heart, squeezing where it’s gone stationary, restarting it.
“We know,” he whispers. “About Camp Merethyl. About the ouroboros project.”
