Chapter 39 The weight of knowing
ADRIAN
There’s something about walking through the gates of campus that makes my whole body exhale. The air smells like overpriced coffee, stress, and possibility. It’s a hell of a lot better than bloodlines, power plays, and betrayal.
I’m finally back at college, and thank the gods for that.
After the past week with my family, accusations flying, walls punched, Darian nearly combusting, it feels good to step back into normalcy. Classes go by in a blur, and for once, I don’t mind. Professors drone, students nod off, I take half-decent notes, and life moves on like it’s supposed to.
By late afternoon, it’s time for my tutoring session with Iris.
I’m actually looking forward to it.
I push open the glass door of the study room, and there she is, already seated at the long table, a textbook open and three different highlighters scattered across the pages like war paint.
“You’re late,” she says without looking up.
I drop into the chair next to her with a tired groan. “Yeah, yeah. I apologize.”
That gets her attention.
She blinks at me, slowly turning her head like she’s trying to catch me in a lie. I reach into my bag and start pulling out my books, but I can feel her stare. It’s intense. Weird.
I glance at her sideways. “What?”
“Are you alright?” she asks, serious.
I frown. “Yeah?”
“Did you fall?” she presses, eyes narrowing. “Hit your head? Maybe black out for a minute?”
Now I’m genuinely confused. “No? Why are you acting like I walked in here bleeding or something?”
She tilts her head dramatically. “Because you apologized.”
I blink. “And?”
She gasps like I just committed a crime. “Adrian McAllister. Apologized.”
I let out a small “oh,” then smirk. “Don’t get used to it.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now. “Couldn’t stay a good person for more than two minutes, huh?”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “That would ruin my reputation.”
We laugh, and just like that, the weird tension fades. This is familiar. Easy. She’s scribbling notes as I open my laptop, and for a moment, I forget there’s anything outside these four walls.
She leans over slightly, pointing at a diagram in the textbook. “So we’re moving into temporal manipulation theory now. It’s a lot, but it’ll make sense once you stop thinking linearly.”
“Sounds fake,” I mutter, staring at the chart of timelines, multiverse branches, and spell tiers.
She nudges me with her elbow. “Stop being dramatic. Look, this symbol here is the anchor point. Every spell involving time starts with a fixed moment.”
I nod, following her finger. “So... if someone wanted to rewind time five minutes,”
“They’d have to cast from the current anchor and pull energy backward. Which burns more power depending on how many variables are involved. People. Objects. Events. The more complex the moment, the more taxing the spell.”
“Right,” I say, writing that down.
We work like that for a few minutes, her walking me through spell theory while I pretend I’m not three seconds from zoning out. But then, out of nowhere, she glances over at me again.
“You okay?”
I blink. “Didn’t you already ask that?”
“You’re unusually quiet,” she says. “I mean, you made one joke in the last ten minutes. That’s suspicious behavior.”
I pause, then shrug. “Just drained.”
“From what?”
“The weekend,” I say, not looking at her. “Family stuff. Drama. The usual.”
I finally glance up, and the moment our eyes meet, her expression shifts. It’s subtle, but I catch it, the worry. Her mouth parts slightly like she wants to ask something else, but doesn’t. She just stares at me for a second longer than usual.
I look away first. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then nods slowly. “Still. That stuff eats at you, even when you think it doesn’t.”
I don’t say anything. Mostly because I’m not used to anyone noticing when I’m off. Or caring. She does both, and it throws me off balance in a way I’m not sure I like or maybe I do. That’s the problem.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, more gently this time.
I give a small shake of my head. “Not really. Not yet.”
She nods again. Doesn’t press.
Instead, she reaches over and draws a star beside one of the anchor spell equations in my notes. “Then we’ll stick to time travel. Less messy than family.”
I snort. “Barely.”
She smiles. “Come on, McAllister. Try to focus. You’ve almost got it.”
And somehow, with her sitting beside me like this, calling me out and still giving me space, I do.
I flip to the next page of notes, pretending to focus. But the weight in my chest hasn't lifted since Iris asked if I was okay. That worry in her voice is still echoing in my head.
She’s still watching me.
Her finger taps the table twice before she speaks again, casually, too casually. “So… how’s Darian?”
The question lands heavier than it should. My pen freezes mid-sentence.
I let out a quiet sigh. Of course she asks about him. She’d want to know. “He’s… fine.”
She tilts her head. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”
I glance at her, then look away again, pressing my thumb into the edge of my notebook. I know I can’t lie to her. Not about this. Not when it involves her. But it’s not easy to say either.
“Iris,” I start, but I pause. One beat. Two.
She notices. “What is it?”
I close the notebook slowly. “The drama over the weekend, it was about you.”
She goes still.
“What?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
Iris leans back in her chair like she’s trying to physically distance herself from the words. Her fingers tighten slightly on her pen. “What do you mean? What happened?”
I glance around the room even though we’re alone. Then I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Darian was with you that night.”
Her cheeks instantly flush. Not just her cheeks, but her neck, her ears, even the tips of her fingers gripping the pen. “That’s... yeah. Okay.” She swallows. “And?”
“And Zeus found out.” I watch her face closely, every flicker of emotion passing through her features. “He told our father.”
Iris blinks, stunned. “Wait. What? Zeus knows?”
“Yep. All of it.” I nod again, slower this time, as if saying it calmly will somehow soften the blow. “He used it. Weaponized it.”
“Why?”
“Because Darian cares about you. And Zeus? He’s making a move to take his place. As heir. As future king. All of it.”
Her breath hitches. “And I’m…what? A weakness?”
I don’t answer right away.
She sits there, lips slightly parted, eyes unfocused like she’s trying to replay everything in her head at once.
She doesn’t say anything for a while.
Just exhales.
Then, without another word, she begins closing her books, sliding them into her bag with slow, deliberate movements.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, though it’s obvious.
“I can’t focus right now,” she says quietly. “I need to think. Process.”
“I get it,” I say, standing too, even though something about this feels like I’m watching her walk off a ledge neither of us can see.
She slings her bag over her shoulder, avoiding my eyes. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
She walks to the door, then pauses, hand on the knob. “Tell Darian...” She stops herself. “Actually, never mind. I won’t be seeing him again for a while, yeah?”
I nod.
And just like that, she’s gone.