“Look, Luc, it’s been too long…” She paused, her eyes darting to his lips, then away. “…since I’ve looked at those blueprints. I barely remember them, much less understand all your additions to them. But it’s your project, so if youwant to make the Council understand, I’m sure you can. You were always able to persuade the instructors before.”
Luc frowned. Undoubtedly, this was not the answer he’d been hoping for, but Lila did not care to humor him with another.
“I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help.”
She turned to go, but he replied, “It’syourproject too, Lila. You cared about it once.Please.”
Lila wanted to tell him Earthwasn’ther project—it had never been and could never be—but the unnatural plea in Luc’s voice made Lila glance back at him. His sharp features had always made him attractive, but now it looked like his skin was sinking into his bones, leaving his face gaunt. The slight smirk that had always tugged at his mouth had yielded to a flat, tired expression. His eyes were flat too, emptied of that gleam that had held endless possibilities.
Once, he’d been clean-shaven; now a smattering of stubble trimmed his jaw. Only his blond hair remained the same, feathering out around his face until it ended at his white collar, where his gold architect pin lay askew. A knotted half circle inside a knotted circle.
Luc seemed defeated, if that were possible. She’d never witnessed such a look on him, barring that one time.
What hadhappenedto him in the past aeon?
Lila sighed.
Why did she always end up helping him?
Well, this was the last time.Ever.
Returning to his side, she suggested, “Why don’t you take your project straight to the Creator?”
“And bypass the Council?” His eyes sparkled dimly.
“Sure. You meet with Him all the time, don’t you?”
Luc visibly held back a comment, as if gauging how much to tell her.
Finally, he explained, “He’s not that accessible. Michael just makes it seem that way.”
“Oh.” Lila shifted. “Well…if I was in your position, that’s what I would do. I wouldn’t waste time convincing the Council of anything. You asked for my opinion, and there it is.”
“Hmm.” Luc cast his gaze downward, pinching his mouth and furrowing his brow. During lessons, he would look just so when he was sketching a new design, adding and removing details until he’d drawn it theway he envisioned it. She’d watched him across a classroom and, later, in the close quarters of the workshop they’d used for group smithing projects. And, later, with their backs slumped against the obelisk and only the Void to witness them, as if they were the only two angels in existence.
“I really need to go,” Lila said, shoving her memories aside before they overwhelmed her. A long-forgotten emotion pressed on her chest, so warm and bright it threatened to soften her bones like iron in a forge.
She had no desire to be twisted once more. Or carved. Or bent.
“Oh, of course,” Luc allowed. He gestured toward the watchtowers, making Lila acutely aware of them again.
With a brief nod, she stepped away. But she’d turned her back for only an instant when he called out her name.
“Lila!”
She spun, ready to scold him for calling out her name so loudly, but the fondness in his expression stopped her. Her chest tightened anew.
“Thank you.” He smiled, some semblance of his old self returning.
“Don’t mention it.”Really. Please, don’t.
One Aeon Pre-Great War
“I’m not sure whether everyone was more excited to graduate or to no longer be in classes with you.”
At the sound of Lila’s voice, Luc turned, and his smile was just for her. His body, a sliver of light slicing through the Void’s dark canvas. He’d been standing near the edge of the marble platform, but as she approached, he met her halfway at the obelisk.
“If they’d worked harder,” he noted, “they could have graduated early and would no longer have had to deal with me. It’s their fault, really.”
