Page 15 of The Patron of Blackwood Hall

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Alexander

I felt her absence almost immediately after saying goodbye.

I was in my penthouse, looking out across the city. I watched the lights, but my mind was elsewhere. Everything had gone according to plan. Project Aurora was settled, the transition was proceeding smoothly, and all the administrative questions had been answered. By every objective measure, the day was a success.

My mind returned to Emilia. I knew her from a distance. Published papers, interviews, and conference presentations had created a portrait that seemed complete, and I had been content to believe it. I had been mistaken. I was entirely unprepared for the woman who stood in front of me today. Rain beneath glass.

Wanting her from afar had been manageable. It asked nothing of me. She had lived elsewhere, and distance had made observation enough. That was over now.

She walked beside me through the conservatory, close enough to touch, and I had not touched her. She would sleep tonight a few floors below my own, and I would know it. Whatever restraint the distance had once kept for me, I would be keeping myself from now on. I had spent the entire afternoon discovering exactly how much effort it would take.

She was here.

And I intended to make sure she never wanted to leave.

Chapter 6

Emilia

Several days passed before I realized I had stopped getting lost.

The discovery arrived one morning as I crossed the eastern wing on my way to the Research Pavilion. What had once felt impossibly vast now felt merely large. I did not need to consult maps or pause at every intersection to confirm I was heading in the right direction.

My days settled into a rhythm. For years, grant deadlines and research milestones had determined the shape of them. The work still mattered as much as ever, but there was more around it now. Evenings might end in the library or in conversation with residents who seemed incapable of discussing anything for less than thirty minutes. Blackwood Hall had a way of making people linger.

Most mornings, I would stop in the conservatory. It was conveniently on my way. Soft gray light filtered through the glass overhead. The pathways were quiet, and the air smelled faintly of earth. I never stayed long, just enough to finish my coffee and remind myself that nothing in here could be rushed.

The lab transition had gone smoothly. Equipment arrived on schedule, administrative requests were resolved quickly, and for the first time in years, the work itself had become my focus. Some days, usually in the quiet moments between meetings, I still wondered if I belonged here. The moment I stepped into the lab, the question disappeared. By midmorning, the laboratories settled into their usual pattern of meetings, experiments, and analysis.

I was reviewing data from a recent trial when a notification appeared in my inbox.

Opera Committee Meeting

Tonight, 7:00 p.m.

Opera House