“But—”
“Fuck you.”
“—first of all, I doubt Clawstar is so petty that they’d boot you for working with a Tourael.”
He’s right. I did, actually, message my future boss the evening of the grant announcement to assure her I got it, remind her that my prearranged forthcoming job is still a good investment on her part, and try to get ahead of any issues. She’d congratulated me, and made no mention of my auspicious lab partner.
It’s possible I might be overexaggerating the negative impact of this, but damn it if I’m not going to wallow.
“Second of all,” Orok continues, “Elethior won’t be able totakeyour joint project. You both own it equally. If you don’t want it to end up in his family’s hands, it won’t. He’s probably just as concerned that you’ll try to get your joint project to go up online for free.”
My smile is sinister. “Oh. Oh, that’s alovelyidea.” I was already planning on pushing this project out for free, so Elethior stewing is icing.
Orok winces at his phone and pockets it. But he refocuses on me before I can pry into that. “What is childish,” he circles back, “is not accepting the situationlike an adultand finding common ground so you do, in fact,havea final project to present.”
I scowl at him and scramble for my phone on my desk. “I’m calling Crescentia. She’ll take my side.”
“You know I’m right, dipshit. But I didn’t come up here for you to ignore me.”
Orok’s posture is… weird. He’s leaning against the door like he’stryingto be relaxed but tension’s strung across his shoulders, one thumb tapping an anxious rhythm on his thigh.
Concern flares. “What’s wrong?”
Our doorbell rings.
Orok holds up his hands. “Okay, so, I didn’ttell herto come. Remember that.”
That clears up nothing. “Who?”
He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck. “My mom wants me home for winter break. Our church is doing their usual ode to Urzoth Shieldsworn’s birthday—even though I’ve told her that isn’t his birthday, that church higher-ups just jumped on the trend centuries ago to throw big holidays in the winter season like a dozen other gods, so it doesn’t—”
The doorbell rings again. A fist knocks.
He coughs. “Right. Anyway, my mom came to get me. And since she was coming, they decided to make it a road trip.”
They.
Everything in my body shifts gears, only the clutch goes out so there’s a lot of internal grinding and a little bit of smoke.
I snatch my phone, but swipe to the most recent—unread—texts from my mom.
MOM
Sebastian, sweetheart, we’re on our way!
Ghorza’s GPS says we should be there after lunch.
We’ll visit then hit the road back home! And I do mean WE. It’s been too long since you spent the holidays with us!
I stare at my phone in a stupor.
Until the screen lights up with an incoming call. From my mother. Who, I assume, is part of the knocking and doorbell-ringing racket downstairs.
Eyes pinched shut, I let my phonethunkonto my desk and take a beat to scrape through what the past few days have left of my sanity. There’s nothing to do but face this like an adult. That’s what I do now, apparently. It’ll be good practice—if I can get through a few hours with my mom, I can handle Elethior. Probably.
“We should let them in before she chops down the door,” I say, defeated.
“My mom hasn’t used her strength like that in years.”
