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Sylvia smiled, but didn’t look up from her notebook. “I’ll title it ‘Lance and the Giants’ just for you.”
Lancelot shook his head. “Lancelot.”
Sylvia sucked in a soft breath. “Is that your given name?”
Lancelot cast Hugo a quick glance that told him he hadn’t meant to reveal that. The knight was falling under her spell. He couldn’t fault the man for it. He was becoming quite enamored as well.
Hugo shrugged casually.
“Uh, yeah. Bit silly though, so—”
“That is the greatest name ever! You should go by that. Lance just doesn’t evoke the same romantic, tragic feeling, does it?”
Sylvia was…refreshing, and Hugo recalled why he’d enjoyed their political debates so much.
They had spent hours last night plotting their subterfuge, Lancelot assuming Sylvia would operate with the same level of paranoia as them. The meeting with the Trinity Masters, and then Eric’s “you’re behind enemy lines” statement, had fired off some pretty fanciful ideas in their minds, and while Hugo had known her when she was seventeen, he’d wondered—worried—if she’d changed.
She hadn’t. Not a bit.
She was just as open and thoughtful as she’d ever been. And while Hugo admired those attributes, part of him worried about people in the future taking advantage of her kindness.
“Lancelot and the Giants,” Sylvia murmured as she wrote it in her notebook. She glanced back up at him. “I…should…”
Her eyes had gotten a faraway look to them, one that Hugo recognized instantly. Sylvia was itching to sit down with her notebook and actually start the first draft of her poem. He often disappeared into his mind as well whenever he was working on a journal article or developing a new academic theory or model.
Lancelot, however, did not recognize the look. “You should what?”
Sylvia blinked a couple of times before managing to shut down the creative side of her brain that was dying to write. “I’m afraid I’m easily distracted. What were we talking about?”
“Your old teacher,” Lancelot supplied. “I think it’s a shame the two of you haven’t seen each other in so long.”
“Well, life happens, doesn’t it? And she’s had some sadness. The last time we spoke, she called and told me her husband had passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hugo said.
Sylvia shook her head. “She called one night a month or so ago to tell me that Mr. Rutherford had died rather unexpectedly. She had to get off the phone quickly, said someone was at the door. I tried to call back the next day, but the number was disconnected.”
Lancelot gave her an easygoing wink. “You know, if you want to find her again, I happen to know a pretty awesome investigator…”
Sylvia laughed at his offer, then took them both by surprise when she said, “Actually, I know where she is.”
“You…do?” Lancelot asked slowly, as if he was doubting his understanding of the language.
“Yes. Well, sort of.”
“Sort of?” Lancelot asked.
Sylvia flushed. “I was worried about her, losing her husband like she had. I checked and there was just an obituary, but no funeral information. I stopped by her place countless times—hoping she would return, but she was never there. I texted, even emailed. No response, so…”
“So?” Hugo prompted.
“I hope you won’t think badly of me for this, but I sort of did a little snooping around.”
Lancelot shot him an amused glance. It wasn’t likely either of them would judge her for that, considering they’d just ransacked Alicia’s entire house.
“You’re speaking to my investigator’s heart. What sort of snooping?” Lancelot asked.
“My brother knew I was worried, so he tracked her down for me.”
