Page 16

“That’s all it takes for Emilia.”

I smiled. “Neither of you has any faith in me.”

“On the contrary,” Priya said. “We have far too much.”

I glanced back at the email. Unfortunately, they knew me too well. The rest of the morning passed as usual. Questions appeared faster than answers, schedules shifted without warning, and at least three people needed guidance on their work before I had finished my cup of coffee.

It was beginning to feel like Aurora was no longer a project in transition. We were finding our rhythm again. That feeling lasted until shortly before lunch.

“Dr. Rossi?”

I looked up from the report in front of me. “What happened?”

“The sequencing results from Trial Twenty-Seven don’t match the preliminary analysis.”

I set the report aside. “Show me.”

Experimental results varied, but this level of discrepancy should not have existed. The samples had been verified, the methodology extensively reviewed, and the previous data confirmed more than once.

The next two hours disappeared into spreadsheets, sample records, and increasingly complicated theories. By the time Priya and Mateo joined, half the team had developed an opinion and none of them agreed with one another.

At some point during the discussion, I glanced toward the corridor beyond the glass wall. Alexander Blackwood passed with two members of the administrative staff, deep in conversation. His gaze shifted toward the laboratory. Our eyes met. Then the conversation reclaimed my attention. When I glanced back, he had disappeared.

Soon after, the truth was discovered and it was far more mundane than expected. One mislabeled sample, two exhausted researchers, and a chain of entirely understandable mistakes had created what initially seemed a significant problem.

As the others gradually returned to work, the two researchers stayed behind to go through the corrected records one last time.

“When was the last time either of you took a full day off? And I mean, really off. No responding to emails, no checking daily results.”

They exchanged a look that answered the question before either of them did.

“That’s what I thought.” I closed the file in front of me. “The rest of the analysis can wait until tomorrow. You can take the rest of the day and come back in the morning, or take tomorrow as well. Your choice. The work will still be here.”

When I was alone in my office, I leaned back in my chair and allowed myself a small smile. Most research depended on patience, persistence, and an extraordinary willingness to solve problems. It was, admittedly, one of my favorite parts of the job.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and I returned to my suite with plenty of time before the committee meeting at seven. I changed my clothes and settled in with the packet that had been delivered earlier in the week.

I read through it twice and decided that a third review was entirely unreasonable. A few minutes before seven, I made my way toward the opera house.

The meeting was held in one of the smaller conference rooms adjoining the opera house. I could hear the low murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter as I walked toward the open doorway. I had arrived precisely two minutes early, but nearly every seat around the table was already occupied.

A conductor sat at one end of the table, engaged in a passionate disagreement with a novelist. Nearby, a physician and a historian were discussing an upcoming chamber music performance with the same seriousness I reserved for grant proposals. The group looked less like a committee and more like a collection of people who enjoyed one another’s company.

“Dr. Rossi.”

I turned at the sound of my name. The voice was unmistakable. Deep, warm, and entirely unexpected. I couldn’t quite hide my surprise. Of all the people I had expected to find at an opera committee meeting, the Chairman of Blackwood Hall had not been among them. He sat near the center of the table with an agenda in front of him, one hand resting on the papers while the other held a fountain pen.

“Good evening, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Please,” he said, gesturing toward the empty chair beside him. “We’re just getting started.”

As I settled into the chair beside him, the faint scent of cedar and spice reached me. It stayed with me for the rest of the meeting. A low, steady scent while I listened to a discussion of guest conductors and budgets. It was impossible to ignore.

The meeting itself passed far more quickly than I expected. Opinions were plentiful, disagreements were frequent, and yet the atmosphere remained positive and cordial.

Twice, his hand moved to make a note on the agenda between us, close enough to mine that I was aware of the few inches of table that separated them. I kept my eyes on the committee chair, and my attention, mostly, on the discussion. Mostly.

What surprised me most about the meeting was how familiar it felt. Whether the subject was cancer research or an upcoming opera season, people who cared deeply about something sounded remarkably similar. The final item on the agenda was the upcoming Annual Blackwood Charity Masquerade.