Page 38 of The Story Between Us

“We talked about this.”

“I’m not napping. This is part of the process.”

She crossed to his desk and set down the coffee. The laptop screen glowed—a document open, a few sentences visible, then nothing. The cursor blinked at the end of deleted text, patient but accusing.

“I heard you typing earlier. What happened?”

“It came out wrong.”

“So you deleted it?”

“It came out wrong.” He said it like she’d suggested he leave a typo in a final draft.

She took a breath. Counted to three. Reminded herself that strangling the author would not help her career.

“Okay.” She grabbed the desk chair and rolled it over to the sofa. Sat down. “Not a problem. I came prepared.”

He turned his head slightly. “Prepared.”

“I may have done some research. At two in the morning. While questioning all my life choices.” She pulled out her phone, opened her notes. “I have seventeen techniques for breaking through creative blocks and a dangerously optimistic attitude.”

“Fantastic.”

“Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.” She scrolled through her list. “First, tell me about”—she gestured at the walls—“all of this. The maps, the notes, the—” She squinted at a sheet of paper covered in symbols. “Is that the Valdorian alphabet on the wall?”

“You can’t have a believable culture without a language system.” He said it like this should be obvious. “And I kept mixing up some of the symbols. If it’s on the wall, I can’t lose it.”

She got up, drawn toward the maps despite herself. The closest one showed a sprawling continent—mountain ranges in careful detail, rivers snaking through forests, cities marked with tiny symbols.

“This is incredible.”

“It’s Emma’s world.”

“No.” She turned to look at him. “This level of detail? This isn’t just story crafting. This is architecture. World-building. This belongs to you.”

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or discomfort at being seen. He looked away.

“Tell me where you’re stuck,” she said, softer now. “Maybe I can help.”

Silence stretched. She thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then: “Aldric stands at the Wall of Sorrow, the one that protects Thornwood Forest. He has to reach Elara before the Blood Moon, but the wall is impenetrable—sealed for three hundred years. The magic that held the secrets of passage died with the previous Keeper of Secrets, his mentor, Morvain.”

“So go around it.”

He gave her a look of pure, undiluted pity. “The wall extends from the Frozen Reaches to the Burning Sea. Six months to circumnavigate. Aldric has six days.”

“Okay, sorry, I just⁠—”

“And the territories on either end are hostile. The Valdorians would execute him on sight. The Fire Clans would⁠—”

“I said sorry.” She held up her hands. “I’m not the expert here. You are.”

“I’m not an expert. I’m stuck.” He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Three years stuck. A thousand solutions tried and discarded. Every work-around violates established lore. Every clever trick undermines something else.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for three years?”

His jaw tightened.