Chapter Twenty-Seven

The days that followed Jamie Novak’s death carried a suffocating routine of well-meaning expressions of grief. Guilds conveyed their sympathies to the mourning Novak family, a very public message meant to show the city itself shared in the sorrow. But Chicago didn’t cry. Too many people were fighting their own battles, enduring their own struggles, surviving their own lives to grieve alongside the elite family that’d lost the heir few knew and even fewer liked.

Many bubbling thoughts, too many, carried doubts surrounding the situation, memories of the boy who housed a devil, the one people said was as cruel as a demon before becoming possessed by one. It made going anywhere and everywhere unbearable. When Finn died, hardly anyone knew the young enchanter, and those who did had excruciatingly kind thoughts surrounding the incident. Incident. Such a tactful way to say murder. But the news cycle ran with Jamie’s death, fueling everyone’s unwanted opinions.

Gemini’s well-staged grief came with a grating exhaustion. Headmaster Dower had the best intentions, from the thoughtfully composed email to staff, her careful announcement to students, and her perfectly laid out agenda for what came next. She’d prepared for every conceivable step or reaction to grief.

A moment of silence on day one. The auxiliary gym was closed. She’d given staff a message to share with students, a list of questions to expect, possible responses to offer, resources and avenues for us to delegate this to someone more suited. Counselors were at the ready, with specialists contacted for those in more urgent need.

Even the substitute Headmaster Dower obtained for Mrs. Whitehurst’s classes was top-notch. In all my years of teaching alongside Chanelle, I’d never seen her take a single sick day—hell, she even passed up half her personal leave time—yet she took three days, completely dropping off the radar, then returned Thursday ready to jump into the next fluid motion of the headmaster’s stages of grief, where Chanelle helped prepare for the upcoming Gemini Academy vigil.

A moment of remembrance for Jamie Novak, a chance to share in the joys the students had, a timed ceremony not meant to impede learning but placed before the impending funeral services.

Impending. It sloshed around my head like a looming threat. It was, too. I hated funerals. I hated the sorrow in other’s minds. I hated the other emotions more: frustration, annoyance, boredom, placating, tact, wishful musings, and a thousand other things in between.

Everything surrounding Jamie’s death—his murder—had this step-by-step agenda meant to usher us through to the next checkpoint, hit our low, and move forward without missing a beat. The organization for this week was meticulous. But I’d coped with grief… No. I’d survived alongside grief, existed in its waves for years on end, dragged to the depths of nearly drowning and rising to the surface through false hope only to be consumed in endless tidal waves of sorrow.

Grief didn’t carry a timestamp. The best intentions couldn’t simply sweep our staff and students hit the hardest by this loss.

Maybe I had bad coping mechanisms and handled loss poorly compared to those around me, but I couldn’t focus on the next stage, the plan. That was what death did to me; it threw out all the plans I had, it—

“Mr. Frost.” Gael’s soft voice in a silent classroom pulled me from my thoughts.

He stood at my desk, fidgety, and clearly had to repeat himself a few times before pulling me out of the haze I walked through this week.

“Yes?”

“Can I get a pass to the library?” he asked sheepishly as he ran a hand through his shaggy hair.

Gael hadn’t styled his spiky hairdo once since the attack on the party; his black roots even started growing, and given the season, I expected him to keep his autumn blend of colors perfectly on point. Seemed everyone had lost their focus.

This close to Thanksgiving break, I anticipated a loss of interest in learning. Honestly, over the years, I’d grown accustomed to lackluster performances around the holidays, so I took it upon myself to move toward recap mini-lessons and make-up work. But with everything that’d happened, I didn’t even have the energy for that much.

Jamie’s death was devastating, brutal, and held nearly everyone’s attention, but several others were attacked at the party, injured, and carried the scars of that trauma everywhere they went on campus.

Unable to put together a real lesson this week, I’d allowed my students to do what they wanted. Train, study, goof off, sit with their thoughts—truly anything.

So, when Gael asked for a pass to the library, I obliged. Hell, I’d already given Layla and Melanie a pass to some math class for SAT prep. Not that either made it. I heard their wandering minds as they roamed the halls of Gemini.

I scribbled a sloppy pass in case Gael got a little lost on the way to the library, and admin wanted to know where his teacher had permitted him to go. “Do I need to add anyone else to this pass?”

Gael blinked a few times, shaking off his own haze of thoughts—something a lot of students had done since the party. Gael was affected especially hard, based on what I’d gleaned from him, from others, from reports, and from Milo’s mind after he’d analyzed all the responding guild accounts.

Most of all, I could see it in Gael’s somber blue aura, which had washed away the bright orange cheer of his personality. His thoughts were mostly in Spanish, so I struggled to comprehend more than half of the words and phrases, but I felt the similar chords of guilt he carried; they were reminiscent of those I held for Finn for far too long. What did Gael have to be guilty over?

“Just me.” He faked a weak smile that hid his sharklike teeth.

I stared at his black eye, the deep bruising running along his face, similar to the abrasions along Tara’s neck. They weren’t the only ones injured at the party, but they put up the most fight. Or tried before…

At the end, even those injured considered themselves fortunate after the news of Jamie’s murder was announced.

Part of me expected Gael to drag Kenzo to the library. Well, I expected Kenzo to drag him there. Kenzo didn’t, though. He didn’t do much of anything at school. He didn’t train. He didn’t study. He didn’t strategize for the future. He simply sulked quietly. Even the thunderous words of his thoughts stirred softly like the patter of trickling raindrops.

Kenzo stared at the pages of a book, his expression calm and reserved, nothing like the Kenzo I’d grown to like since last year. No death stare at onlookers, no practiced scowl, no defaulted glare at the ready. “ What’s the point? ”

So faint, so sad, it reminded me of Tara. Oh, Tara. She’d once again returned to isolating herself in the furthest corner of the classroom, avoiding everyone, including her friend Gael, who didn’t cause mischief or burst into random fits of laughter. Even he sat quietly, contemplating while sharing a conversation with King Clucks in his thoughts. What I assumed to be a conversation, even if I only heard Gael’s side.

There was guilt swimming at the edges of Tara’s ocean, unlike the natural guilt she carried with her every single day. No, this new thread of blame came from the party. The tragedy Tara believed she’d caused.

Peter Graham said her brother’s name, attacked a party she attended, and killed Jamie for interfering. It was difficult discerning more from her mind without delving into the powerful undertow of her thoughts that’d surely drown me. Still, Tara had convinced herself this was because of her. But it wasn’t.

I’d connected enough dots eavesdropping on Milo to know that much. He hadn’t stopped working since Jamie’s murder. He analyzed all his notes, all his potential futures, all his contacts’ information, and nothing indicated a connection, good or bad, between Theodore Whitlock and Peter Graham. Whatever drove Peter to that party, whatever malicious motives he harbored, Tara’s presence was a mere coincidence.

Milo. Christ, how I wanted to talk with him. I wanted to lean on his shoulder, grieve, mourn, but we’d been down this road before, and Milo only knew me as the type of man who boxed up his grief and pushed away anyone who offered comfort. He did what he believed I wanted in this moment, which was to offer space while doing what he did best when grieving—he buried himself in work. He searched for answers. He fought for the best future even if his heart broke across the city, convinced he’d lost sight of the best futures for all.

With the classroom so silent, it didn’t take much for my telepathy to reach out to Milo’s mind, a soothing comfort after the way it’d found Jamie as I slumbered. I reeled back my branch, quelling my magic despite the psychic pain of breaking away from Milo right as his image materialized before my eyes.

I didn’t understand why my magic sought Jamie out. I cared about the kid, wanted to help him, wanted to fix the damage the chimera had done, but I’d never truly linked my branch to his thoughts, his inner core. It was a haunting realization that my magic had developed so much since my own near-death experience and now might seek out those I cared about to any degree during their worst moments and give me a glimpse into horrors I couldn’t prevent.

I swallowed the dread consuming me, knowing that I needed to sit down and do a real, proper evaluation of my growing branch magic. Updating a license, testing magical limitations, evolutions, improvements, or deteriorations was a lot like going to the doctor when you knew your body was broken. They were going to ask why I kept moving forward for so long with the check engine light flashing on repeat before finally figuring out what the hell was wrong. I hated surprises, but sometimes, ignorance was bliss, and as a mind reader, I rarely got to avoid the truth of things.

My phone buzzed.

A text. Which he immediately followed up with a gif because of course he fucking did. Some guy biting his lip while anxiously awaiting a response. I chuckled. Okay. That was a little funny.

I stopped typing, watching the dance of three floating bubbles.

I stuffed my phone into my pocket, resisting the smile that came from each buzzing text of Milo deflecting his grief, his stress, with horny humor.

Desperate for a reprieve, I sped walked down the empty hallway toward the staff parking lot where I planned to hide for my entire planning period. The distance would alleviate the headache of emotions that ranged in far too many directions to handle, and perhaps a few cigarettes would decrease the massive amount of stress stacking atop my shoulders with each passing minute of the day.

As I reached the front doors, a spritz of water hit my arms. I paused, rubbing a hand along my dry shirt sleeves.

“Fuck,” I mumbled.

The sensation of raindrops continued splashing against my skin. A light rain that carried the heavy weight of actual tears from someone’s deep sorrow. I turned, staring down the halls in every direction, but found no one nearby.

I should’ve pushed through the door and let the sun outside dry away the emotional sadness that clung to my telepathy, yet this gnawing guilt ate away at me. Somewhere in this building, a student struggled with Jamie Novak’s death so deeply that the emotions stretched across the academy and latched to my mind. This wasn’t one of my students. No, I’d become familiar with their emotional frequencies, the most subtle echo of their thoughts, even when wordless, such as now.

“Fuck.” I cracked my neck and turned on my heel in search of this broken kid, knowing full well I had absolutely nothing to offer in regard to lessening the sadness that spread throughout the building. Still, I couldn’t help but want to help. Help. Help. Help. It was a word I heard from Jamie’s cries as that warlock snuffed out his life.

Help. It was something I often failed to do.

Help. It was something I deluded myself into thinking I could offer.

Help. It was a word that began to lose all meaning in my mind.

As I reached the third-year student hallway, I found an aura of somber blue so deep and dark it resembled the blackness one might find at the bottom of an ocean. This mind radiated sadness, guilt, regret, rage, defeat, misery, and so many other emotions in tandem, I was shocked they’d managed to get out of bed and make it all the way to Gemini—even if all they did was hide from their classes in a part of the academy rarely used in the afternoons since third-year students spent most of their school days at internships.

Following the aura’s trail, I opened the stairwell door and found Vik sitting crisscrossed at the bottom step with three shadow cats dancing in circles before collapsing into puddles of goop.

“I still can’t get it.” They wiggled their fingers like a puppeteer yanking on the strings of their magic, which reformed the shadow cat shape of three silhouettes.

Their magic was powerful, versatile, and capable of mimicking any and every magic conceivable, yet they sat in their sadness, believing their branch incapable of the simplest of tasks.

Bright yellow cut through the somber blue, casting sunlight in the stairwell that nearly made me wince from the sharp light.

“You’re getting better at it,” Katherine said, scooting closer to Vik.

From my vantage point, hidden at the top of the railing, I could barely see my student who was currently skipping her statistics class to sit in silence with Vik. Not that Katherine’s attendance mattered this close to the holiday or given the fact she had a perfect score in the class.

“No, I’m really not getting better.” Vik smashed one of their three shadow cats into black smoke between their hands while redirecting the two remaining cats. “I never tried hard enough during class. Never bothered when outside of school. Now, I can’t work with him, so Jamie’s branch is lost to the world. Not that some second-rate trash like me deserves to—”

“Stop that,” Katherine said, an edge in her voice as her thoughts turned sour. She often believed in the best for everyone around her, so when Vik berated themself, it turned the edges of Katherine’s joyful aura to a glint of crimson red.

“I just… I don’t know…” Vik shrugged. “I thought it’d be a nice way to remember him.”

“I did a hybrid spell with Jamie.” Katherine retrieved her grimoire, flipping through the pages to the spell I’d encouraged her to work on as a way to subtly help Jamie.

Help. Jamie. There it was again, my delusional selfishness.

“Won’t work.” Vik managed to swirl the two shadow cats together into a black whirlpool. “I’ve copied Harrison’s elixirs before. If his potion craft enchantments are anything like your spell craft, then all my branch can do is copy your ability to create spells, not the actual spell you created on a particular page.”

I understood. Vik’s mimicry would copy a blank page where they could, in turn, write down a spell of their own. But a spell that embodied Jamie’s arcane magic would be among the most complex and sophisticated phrasing on parchment.

“Oh.” Katherine released a bitter exhale, doing her best to push away the sadness that threatened to creep inside her.

It wasn’t the same sadness carried by her classmates. Katherine didn’t feel the loss of Jamie. I didn’t believe she begrudged him, but there was no emotional pain to his death in her mind. No, the sadness Katherine carried came from how his death, his murder, rippled through the hearts of everyone around her that she so deeply cared for. She felt awful for what happened to Jamie, the act itself, but it pained her more to see those left so broken in different ways, heartache eating away at their joy, and she couldn’t think of a single spell to fix all the sadness.

Katherine merely wanted to find ways to cut through that grief, pack it away for others, and move forward. It was a very Milo-esque philosophy. Admirable, if not mostly vexing.

There was one thought that sat in Katherine’s throat like a bitter pill too big to swallow and too rude to speak. She’d dwelled on her ranking this year, having only moved up one slot from eighth to seventh, and upon seeing Jamie this semester, it dawned on her that she only managed to move up because Jamie’s ranking had plummeted at the start of the new school year.

Vik’s black whirlpool splattered onto the floor, and they released a heavy sigh and then waved their hands until the magic dissipated. I wished their sadness would’ve disappeared as easily, but it clung to their mind.

“You know, I might have another idea.” Katherine slammed her grimoire, startling Vik, which sent a shudder through my body as my telepathy latched to their emotional uncertainty.

“W-was…was that necessary?” Vik’s voice didn’t carry nearly as loud through the stairwell as Katherine’s action, which continued to echo.

“You want something to remember Jamie with, his magic, right?” Katherine asked, knowing her gesture pulled all of Vik’s focus from their thoughts and onto her question.

“Yeah, but…” Vik bit their lip, unable to form words for what they wanted. Even their thoughts lacked tangibility in what they hoped to express.

“I have an idea. Complicated idea. Complex idea? It’s an idea. A big one. Either really, really good, or plain awful.” Katherine smiled. Not the beaming expression that filled her entire face with joy but a soft smile meant to invite others to find a bit of happiness. “I need to talk to Caleb about it. He knows this stuff better than me, but I think we’ve got the right magics. Well, maybe. Depends. It’s something my dad and aunts did for my grandma way back when.”

Katherine strummed her fingers against the spine of her grimoire while her thoughts spun in a hundred different directions, weaving down the aisles of her mind, stitching together half-concocted plans and plotting to make everyone around her a little happier. I struggled to make sense of what she’d conceived since her aura burned bright, and her surface thoughts were almost as swift and methodic as Caleb’s.

I slinked back, slipping quietly through the door and leaving the two of them in the stairwell to sit with their feelings, realizing I had nothing to offer them. I couldn’t help them because I couldn’t help anyone. Not right now. Not until I dealt with my own grief and guilt.

Milo insisted on meeting me at the academy. Apparently, he couldn’t be swayed to come back to my place since he had a late night of work. A late night of avoidance, but I’d take what I could get, and honestly, helping him in any small way was a wonderful distraction.

I leaned against the hood of my car, taking in the brisk air as I smoked a cigarette. Work had left me emotionally exhausted, enduring the barrage of thoughts in all their many forms. And truthfully, empty school days left me more drained than fast-paced classes. Doing nothing was sometimes the most tiring fucking thing in the world.

All I wanted was to go home and crash on the couch, but I waited for Milo alone in the empty parking lot.

“ Where the fuck is he? ” Kenzo’s aggravation lit a spark that brushed away the chill outside.

Taking a deep inhale, I finished my smoke and wandered toward the front of the academy, where Kenzo sat with a book in his hands but none of the words in his thoughts. Nothing he did worked to focus his mind, retain the information, and escape the failure that loomed over him like a shadow.

“Waiting on your ride?”

Kenzo huffed. “Gael’s in a study group. Which should’ve ended ten fucking minutes ago.”

“Surprised you’re not in there with him.”

“Why would I?” he asked curtly, requiring and wanting no response. “I don’t need to study. You’ve seen my grades.”

“Pretty sure they’re up there because of all the studying, training, hard work.”

“Whatever.” Kenzo tucked his book in his bag.

So much for having a moment. Geez, I wished Milo would show up already.

Past the shadow of failure weighing down on Kenzo’s shoulders, luminescent orange cut through the skyline. Gael’s joy had blossomed despite all the somber emotion he carried this week.

Curiously, instinctively, I reached out with telepathy, navigating the barren hallways of Gemini and reaching the library where others had just left, but Gael stood with shock and awe at the surprise visit from his idol, his hero, his inspiration: Enchanter Evergreen.

“What’re you doing here, Mr. Enchanter Evergreen, sir?” Gael gulped, wishing he could go back and rewind this moment, undo his fumbling question, while also scrambling to fix his hair that he couldn’t believe looked so bad.

Despite having met Enchanter Evergreen at several events and lucking out by landing in a class where his teacher dated The Inevitable Future, Gael had never once had a one-on-one conversation with Milo. There were a million things he wanted to say, to ask, but in the moment, his brain completely froze.

“ Why would Enchanter Evergreen want to talk to me? ”

A valid question and one I wanted an answer to as well. It seemed Milo’s assistance involved keeping Kenzo occupied while he spoke with Gael. But why?

“ A head’s up would’ve been nice. ” I linked to Milo’s mind, which he masterfully ignored, not so much as revealing a micro expression to my intrusive comment.

“I know what happened has been weighing on you,” Milo said with a gentle smile, the kind he donned when showing care over confidence.

“Yeah, it was…” Gael averted his eyes and paused.

“Peter Graham is a scary man, warlock, and I imagine it’s brought up a lot of old wounds.”

“Yeah, my folks said pretty much the same thing.”

“You know what happened wasn’t because of you, right?”

“I guess.” Gael shrugged. “It’s not really…I don’t know. It’s hard to say why he was there, and it’s incredibly narcissistic to assume he showed up because of me. Doubt he even remembers me.”

Peter did remember him, though. That much I gleaned from Milo’s surface thoughts as he had set Peter on a potential path that’d keep him as far from interacting with the Martinez family ever again, along with never gaining access to his branch after all the damage he’d caused with the entropy magic. All this on top of instilling a degree of fear for authority that’d keep Peter compliant with the law. The thought weighed on Milo, wondering if he’d inaccurately predicted Peter’s future if he’d steered him toward a breaking point, a cruel outlook where he’d take any measures for violence.

“What’s got me down is that I froze,” Gael said. “I didn’t do anything to help. I needed to be saved. What’s the point of training to be a professional enchanter if I choke the second trouble shows up? I basically did the same thing during the warlock incursion.”

He didn’t!

“That’s not true,” Milo said. “You played a vital role in support, making sure everyone stayed safe.”

“Yeah, support. Not very good, and I couldn’t even manage that much this time.”

Milo studied Gael, thinking back to the events where their paths first crossed. For Milo, looking back on memories was more difficult than it was for me. His thoughts fluttered in and out of visions long since faded, discerning the potentials he’d skirted and the realities he’d cemented. How he made sense of what could’ve happened versus what actually happened was a miracle of his mind.

“Do you know why I arrived when I did that day your family was attacked?”

“Because you had a vision. Because you’re Enchanter Evergreen, and saving people is what you do.”

“Okay, but that’s not why I arrived when I did. I was late, later than intended.” Milo craned his neck, attempting to meet Gael’s eyes as he kept his head turned away shamefully. “I had a vision of a very dangerous fight on my hands. I was terrified. I froze. Just a few minutes, but that fear felt all-consuming. And I was already an enchanter at that point. So, if pros are allowed to falter, to hesitate, shouldn’t you be allowed, too?”

“But you did the right thing. I can’t go back and…” Gael dwelled on Jamie’s death.

“Fear and failure are not the same thing.” Milo patted Gael’s shoulder, a hand pressed against one of the larger spikes with his fingers carefully avoiding the smaller spikes that lined the one sprouting outward. “The world is filled with so much cruelty and needless chaos. Sometimes, staring directly into that chaos can be petrifying.”

“Thank you.” Gael looked Milo in the eyes. “Guessing you had a vision that brought you here. Despair or…I don’t know. Something bad because of me. Sorry you had to come out here and—”

“I did. I have lots of visions. Currently having one now.” Milo laughed. “But do you know what triggers my visions? My branch?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of factors.” Gael’s mind swirled in thoughts so swiftly and cumbersomely I could’ve mistaken him for Caleb, given all the data he had on the great Enchanter Evergreen.

“There are a lot of factors. One of them is how people’s feelings are directed toward me.”

What? I quirked a brow.

“If someone’s frightened of me, I might get a vision of potential future nightmares they’ll face or secrets they want to stay hidden, lots of random possibilities. If they express anger in my direction, sometimes I glimpse arguments, violence, battles, sporting events—usually with their team losing.”

Gael listened intently, in awe, because Milo had never divulged this to anyone, and Gael would know since he’d watched, read, and listened to every single recorded interview Enchanter Evergreen had done.

“The best emotion, the reaction that I strive to bring out in others, is belief,” Milo explained. “It’s weird wanting people to put me on a pedestal, but that shows me futures where I can potentially do the most good, help the most people. It’s the hope of others, their gift to me, that makes The Inevitable Future possible.”

Emotions did carry such tremendous weight in this world. I only saw snippets of auras in the atmosphere, but they seemed to merge with nature itself, sparking chemistry and magic and so much more we had barely gleaned.

“The day I rescued you, the awe in your eyes, the gratitude in your smile, it gave me the very first snippet to a vision that helped make me the number one enchanter in Chicago.”

“Wait, you mean the Night of the Fiend Massacre?” Gael asked, wide-eyed.

“It took some real investigation after that, months to fully unravel the vision and organize the guilds properly when the time came, but it might’ve never happened if I hadn’t crossed paths with you that day, if you hadn’t believed in me more than anyone else ever had.”

“ Enchanter Evergreen es increíble. ” Gael smiled, truly smiled, for the first time since before the party where I worried he’d forever lost that spark of joy in his heart.

“I hope you’ll remember to believe in yourself, Gael.” Milo smiled back, almost as big and bright as Gael’s sharklike teeth. “But if you ever falter, know that I believe in you.”

I drifted from their conversation, content to let Milo handle what he saw as righting a future that’d strayed off course where he believed Gael was meant for.

“Gael’s gonna be a minute.” I plopped onto the bench beside Kenzo.

“Is he looking at those damn comic books again?”

I lit a cigarette, avoiding offering Kenzo an answer. Besides, half the time, I couldn’t tell if he was being rhetorical or not. He rarely sought input, even when vocalizing a question.

“You know”—I forced out a deep exhale, letting the smoke waft with icy breath as I contemplated how to approach a much-needed discussion—“you’re probably the most ambitious student I’ve ever had. And I’ve had some kids with big egos.”

“Is that an insult?” Kenzo tsked, an act to remind me nothing I said could faze him, which was probably true. But he did more damage to himself with the words he slung inward than anyone else could ever hurl at him.

“You were scared when Peter Graham arrived, scared in a way I don’t think you’ve ever been. Not since I’ve known you, and I’ve seen you faced against frightening odds.” While Milo consoled Gael, rehashing the events of their first encounter, I took it upon myself to hopefully offer a bit of guidance to Kenzo.

“I wasn’t scared.” Kenzo ground his teeth.

He was. He replayed the events on a loop in his mind, freezing his thoughts, his memory, to the singular moment when he allowed his fear to let him flee.

“Do you know why I teach students about failure?” I asked, rhetorical as fuck, and savoring the tiny joy I got from Kenzo’s internalized profanities over the question. “I do it because I need you all to understand it’s okay to stumble, to falter, to fall flat on your face. I want these experiences to occur in a safe space because there’s nothing safe about the casting industry. That said, you’ve held yourself with grace and skill in situations you should never have had to face at your age.”

“I was ready for anything when he showed up and attacked.” Kenzo stared at the concrete. “I just don’t understand why I was so relieved when Tara pushed me out of the fight. I’ve never… I don’t know who I am if I can’t protect others, if I can’t beat anyone. Everywhere I turn, there’s someone with better magic than me, better skills, better belief in themselves, and I’m starting to think I’m not what the world needs.”

“Your disruption, hell, the hex branch in general, is classified as a support magic. I’ve worked with a lot of students at Gemini. I’ve also read a lot of studies, researched enchanters across the nation, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone with a disruption magic take on a team leader role, a combative licensing type, but here you are proving your magic would be what you made of it. You didn’t let statistics determine who or what you saw for yourself, so don’t let a few moments of hesitation wash away all the certainty you’ve got going.”

My pep talk probably needed work, but bits of the apprehension in the shadow looming over Kenzo crumbled.

“It’s okay to lose faith in yourself from time to time. It’s all right to contemplate where you fit in the world. But it’s important to listen to those whispers of belief in yourself, even when they’re so soft and wispy you can’t tell if they’re there. They are. Take it from a telepath. It’s okay to doubt, too, but it’s important not to let those nagging thoughts consume you.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Obviously, since we both know you’re not.” I cracked the tiniest of smiles, which only aggravated Kenzo more. “I believe in you, and I’m okay believing in you even if you need to pause and contemplate.”

“ Thanks… ” Static perfectly coiled Kenzo’s hairline, creating a crown of sorts that buffered and blocked his surface thoughts.

“Impressive.” I took an inhale from my cigarette.

Kenzo scoffed. “ Go have a Hallmark bullshit moment somewhere else, Frost. ”

I choked on a puff of smoke from laughing so hard, which Kenzo took as a personal slight to his proficiency. He stormed off into the parking lot to train since Gael was taking for-fucking-ever , as Kenzo, in his renewed sense of self, would put it.

“ You could’ve told me your favor involved helping one of my students. ” I linked to Milo’s mind, stealing him from his chat with Gael, who had a thousand questions that he’d managed to narrow down to a healthy hundred.

“ Two students, ” Milo thought, managing to answer Gael’s questions. “ Besides, if I told you, it would’ve altered the potential. You’re really bad at rehearsed meaningful conversations. ”

“ That’s not true. ” I huffed. “ I’m pretty bad at all forms of meaningful conversation. ”

Milo grinned. “ And I’m sorry I’ve been distant. ”

“ I get it. You need to work, need to solve…this. ”

“ It’s not an excuse. I never saw this, not even an inkling. ” Milo acted out some fight against some warlock Gael mentioned from a decade ago, almost appearing joyfully lost in the moment. “ I’m here if you need me, Dorian. I just need to be there for others, too. ”

“ I understand, and honestly, I’m fine. ”

“ The four-letter word of doom. Does this mean you’re gonna avoid me for the next six months? ”

“ Dick. ”

“ Save the dirty talk! I gotta get back to work after this. ”

“ I’m glad you’re helping everyone. And I am fine. F I N E. But I want to make sure you’re also okay, that you’re not burning yourself out. ”

“And that’s because The Inevitable Future always comes out on top,” Milo said, answering Gael’s question and responding to me without actually responding. “ I’m okay, Dorian. Thank you for your concern. It paints a pretty future. ”

“I love you, Milo,” I whispered, sending all those emotions his way, every fiber I could muster through this sadness because I wanted him to only see futures that revealed my love, my hope, my happiness for him and everything he brought me.

“ I love you, too. ”