He inclined his head. It was devastatingly sincere.
Artemis swallowed hard.
Eloise did not wait for the emotional impact to settle. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, swiping at her own eye. “If he keeps talking like that, I’m going to need a stronger drink than champagne.”
She stepped forward, yanking her arm free of Caliban’s with fond impatience.
“You stubborn, brilliant woman,” she said, pointing her glass directly at Artemis. “You did not break.”
Artemis inhaled sharply.
“You did not let small humans convince you that you were small. You did not let doubt take permanent residence. You did not let fear of failure rob you of trying again.”
Her voice wobbled once, then steadied.
“You chose joy,” Eloise said softly. “Which is the bravest thing anyone can do.”
The fire cracked behind them.
Artemis’s eyes filled fully now.
Eloise lifted her glass. “To Dr. Ripley. May she continue to terrify incompetence everywhere.”
“That is statistically likely,” Caliban murmured.
Laughter broke the tension.
All eyes turned to me.
I had prepared words. I had rehearsed them. I couldn’t remember any of them as I looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her shoulders square even as her eyes shimmered.
“I have never been prouder,” I said.
Nothing more.
Her breath hitched, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
I lifted my glass instead and took a deliberatesip, giving her the dignity of recovery. She exhaled, laughed shakily, wiped her cheeks herself.
Caliban nodded once in approval at my restraint.
Eloise mouthed, “Good man.”
Artemis leaned into me briefly, shoulder pressing against my chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Always,I said to her.
The champagne flowed as the bartender refilled our glasses.
Artemis was laughing now. Not the careful version. Not the measured, socially calibrated one. Full laughter. Head tipped back. Hands gesturing as she recounted something to Eloise about misfiled medieval cheese manuals.
Caliban attempted to defend the intellectual integrity of cheese taxonomy.
“It is a historically significant trade marker,” he insisted.
“You alphabetized your emotional state,” Eloise countered. “You don’t get to judge cheese.”
