Malcolm’s office is on the top floor. The ride up is silent except for the soft hum of ascent and the faint pressure shift in my ears. My reflection in the mirrored wall looks the same as it always does, even thoughIdon’t feel the same. My straight, dirty blond hair hangs over my forehead and a little in my eyes that are the exact shade of green that my dad’s were. While everyone else around here wears lab coats or business attire, I walk around the place in ripped jeans and a hoodie.
Being a Bellrose, I can get away with it.
When the doors slide open, Malcolm’s assistant greets me with a smile that’s polite enough to be real but distant enough to feel mechanical.
“Was Dr. Bellrose expecting you today?” she asks.
I snort softly. “I’ma Bellrose, Janet. I think Uncle Malc can make time for his nephew.”
She hesitates for half a second, as though wanting to preserve the illusion of protocol, then taps something on her tablet.
“He’s free,” she says, nodding at the double doors to the left.“Go on in.”
Malcolm’s office is all glass and light, overlooking the atrium like a watchtower disguised as transparency. The desk is positioned so he can see the entire space below. Control framed as openness. My dad used to tease him about it.
You always did like knowing where everyone is.
Then he’d laugh.
Malcolm looks up as I enter, already on his feet by the window with his tablet in his hand, glasses perched low on his nose.
If anyone were to guess, they wouldn’t assume we’re related. While I’m blond, his hair is so dark it’s nearly black. His eyes are a dark brown, and his face is a bit wider than mine. But his smile has always reminded me of my dad’s.
“Cason,” he says warmly, as though my presence is a pleasant interruption as much as a surprise. “You’re not scheduled today.”
I try not to flinch at the use of my whole name. My uncle’s the only one who still uses it even though I prefer it shortened. But after everything he’s done for me, I don’t correct him.
“I know. I needed a change of scenery.”
His gaze flicks over me. “Like North Carolina?”
I shrug. “Mom’s set on it.”
“I can’t say I blame her,” he replies, setting his tablet on his desk. “Change can be…necessary.”
There’s a pause, a small one, expectant.
“I’m staying.”
Something subtle shifts in his expression. Not relief, exactly, but confirmation, as if a variable just resolved the way he expected it would. I guess I’m predictable. It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that I want to stick close to my father’s legacy.
“You already know you’re welcome here. And the spare room I have?”
He phrases it as a question, so I nod. “Yeah, I’ll take it. At least until I can find something of my own.”
“There’s no rush.”
“I appreciate that.”
He gestures for me to sit, and I drop into one of the chairs across from his desk. My hands itch for something to do. I tap my fingers against my legs, then stretch them out, attempting to tame the restlessness. I spend most of my days at a keyboard, so when I’m not typing, I tend to have the urge to fidget.
“So,” I say, leaning back and placing my hands behind my head, my ankles crossed. “What world-changing things are you up to today, dear Uncle?”
Malcolm smiles. It’s small and controlled, almost fond. “Paperwork. And prevention.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It always does, out of context.”
