Page 166 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“Don’t apologize. It was very clever.”
“Thank you, uh, sir.” I wasn’t sure what to call him. “Professor” and “doctor” had felt wrong. “Sir” wasn’t quite cutting it either, but “Max” was too informal. And I definitely couldn’t call him “Dad”.
But he was kind, charming, and good-humored— everything Mom had said he wasn’t. So why had she been so dead-set on never letting me meet him?
“You’re on the waitlist, you say?” A mischievous glint reached his eye, and he looked around conspiratorially. “Tell you what. You seem more serious than most of the incoming geophysics students I see, especially if you’re here to listen to me rattle on for an hour about a field you don’t care much for. Give me your name, and maybe I’ll put in a good word with the dean.”
“Oh, that’s not—”
“It’s really no trouble. Let me see if I’ve got pen and paper, so I can write it down.” He patted at his pockets, and I steadied myself.
“I think you’ll remember it.”
“Oh?” He poked at his blazer, still searching for a pen. “Why’s that?”
“Because it’s Wren Warrender.”
He froze with his hands over his blazer pockets and slowly raised his eyes to mine. He held my gaze, all signs of his previous mirth evaporated. His eyes roved over me a second time, and the lines around his eyes and mouth grew tighter as his frown deepened.
He took in a sharp breath, as if to say something, but then held onto the air, apparently at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry.” I could salvage this. I could get us back on track. “I didn’t mean to make it weird, but I’m here for an admissions interview, so I thought—”
“Does Eliza know you’re here?”
I flinched at Mom’s name.
“Technically? Yes. She just doesn’t know you’re here too.”
“Okay.” He nodded curtly, licked his lips as he glanced around for an escape, and then looked back at me with new determination. “So what is it you want from me? A recommendation to the dean?”
“No, I—”
“Money, then? Tuition?” There was a simmering anger beneath his panic, and I took a half-step back.
For a brief, shining moment, I’d almost had a dad. Kind of. Not really, but he’d been nice, at least.
As soon as I’d told him who I was, that version of him had crumbled.
“I don’t want your money.”
“Then why are you here?” A poorly contained snarl stained his tone. “I’ve told Eliza so many times—”
He cut off and shook his head.
“I have questions for you.” My voice broke. I hated how meek and small I sounded. I hated how much I still wanted to turn this around, to convince him I was a worthwhile daughter.
“About the lecture? How about you wait and see if you get into the program first. There’s no use in wasting both our time.”
“Questions about Skalterra.”
He froze at the name, and the knot in his brow loosened enough to let his eyebrows rise a fraction of an inch.
My heart hitched. Other than my run-in with Stanley earlier in the week, I’d never breathed a word about Skalterra to anyone, but the name alone had been enough to give Maxwell Brenton, PhD, pause. This conversation had gone south fast, but I could save it if it meant discovering my connection to Skalterra.
“I know about it,” I offered, gaining confidence. He had answers. I could tell. I was going to learn why I was lucid as a Nightmare, and maybe even learn how to get back without Galahad. “I’ve been there.”
“Skalterra?” he repeated.
