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Chapter 28

He thought about Jeremiah at his side. In every imagining of the future, the future he wanted, he wanted that.

Rain hummed against windowpane glass, low and steady.

He turned, set the large luminous jewel on his desk, let it glow faintly over half-sketched disguised-princess plots. He would, he decided, have to start the operetta anew.

His schoolteacher watched him, started to speak, paused. Cade raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

“Your parents—” Jeremiah cut himself off, waved a hand: “Never mind.”

“My parents,” Cade echoed, wondering when he’d missed context. He batted a strand of auburn out of his eyes: getting too long, and too messy now, a tangle of everything they’d been through. He’d need to wash it properly, and it’d curl when drying. It wanted Jeremiah’s fingers in it, to leave it messy all over again.