“Hey, Dad.”
“Guilty.”
One word. Not even a greeting.
One word, and I’m folding over myself, elbow on my knee and hand covering my face and it’s a miracle I keep the phone pressed to my ear.
“What?” I croak, because I need—it isn’t—
“The conviction came through,” Dad says, and I can tell he’s smiling. “They’ve been found guilty on thirty-four counts of negligence, misconduct, gross abuse of magic—do you want me to read the list?”
I laugh. It’s watery; my eyes are burning. “No, I’m good.”
“Are you sure? It’s a doozy.” He chuckles. “I might get it framed. Hang it in my study—”
“Sebastian!” My mother’s voice. She’s grabbed the phone. And she’s sobbing. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so happy for you. For you and Orok. Oh! We need to call Orok! Mason, have you called Orok?”
“I haven’t—”
“Call him!”
“I will, but we’re on the phone with your sonright now.”
I smile.
Because they’re bantering, a dancing, celebratory arguing that’s light and teasing.
Because my parents were like this when I was a kid, before Camp Merethyl wedged itself between us and all I got from them was disappointment and collisions.
I smile, because after four years of wondering if ripping out my deepest pain for the world to see would be worth a damn, I have my answer—but what’s throbbing through my body isn’t even in response to that.
Camp Merethyl and the people who ran the ouroboros project are being held accountable for what they did. Our lawsuit brought other allegations forward, and the rest of the partners who’d been in our training group—the ones who disappeared, whofailed out—came with their own stories, their own evidence. With this guilty verdict, it isn’t just me and Orok who’ll benefit from restitution; with this guilty verdict, the money Camp Merethyl will owe us all now means they won’t be able to keep running. They’ll shut down.
It’s over.
But that’s not what I focus on.
Dad reclaims the phone. “We’ll be up to celebrate this weekend, Sebastian. I love you.”
Butthatisn’t what I focus on either, how my relationship with both my parents is an entirely new beast. I can’t recognize who we are to each other now versus the people who barely spoke for six years. I’ve even made up with my siblings, too.
No, what has me staying hunched over, hand in my hair, is the confirmation that I can do it now.
“We’ll be celebrating more than that,” I say.
At the wordcelebrating, my Clawstar colleagues let loose an ear-piercing cheer.
Dad chuckles into the phone. “We will, huh? You going to propose to that boy?”
Somewhere behind him, my mother shrieks. SheadoresThio, especially since he switched careers and they’ve bonded over the highs and lows of nursing. Dad loves him just as much, and originally I thought my father’s affection was his way of overcompensating with earning my forgiveness; but he and Thio really do get on, and I think it has more to do with Dad realizing Thio needed a family after the shitty way his treated him.
My grin stretches and I laugh, nearly disintegrating at the release of pressure, thefreedom.
I’m almost certain Thio’s been waiting until after the lawsuit verdict to propose, too.
Is that the real reason I didn’t want to be with him today and had my father call me first?
Abso. Fucking. Lutely.
