Perhaps my unannounced presence is just another burden.
The piles of paperwork already tell me he’s one of the few world councilors holding hereditary seats who don’t simply see their position as nominal. Even ceremonial.
I can feel it now. Feel him now. His grief, combined with everything I’m already holding, slices through my chest. Harshly enough that I can’t stop myself from quietly gasping under the onslaught.
Elias’s expression completely shutters. He offers me a stiff smile as his essence shifts around him. All the light in the office, including the daylight slashed through the wooden shades, dims ever so slightly.
Then I can’t feel him, or his grief, anymore.
After almost staggering under the weight of our combined sorrow, I’m momentarily rudderless at its withdrawal, swaying on my feet. I grip the half-open bookshelf for support.
Elias’s eyes widen.
I turn away, pushing the section of bookshelf open wider. My voice is shaky as I murmur, “I won’t be a moment.”
Then I’m moving again, opening the fire door that was likely installed when the seventeenth-century building was retrofitted for more modern offices. It was easier to hide the staircase than to tear it out, I suppose. Plus, it provides an emergency exit.
Though the stairs lead up, not down.
Leaving Elias without another word, I resist a childish impulse to slam the bookshelf closed behind me. I’m certain he can get it open if he wants it open.
I quickly ascend the twist of heavily worn hardwood stairs. A modern metal railing has been installed, making the passage tighter than it felt when I was a child. I don’t think I’ve traversed these stairs since I was … thirteen or fourteen …
I’ve also never walked them alone.
Some firsts should never be. And for me, climbing these stairs without Armin is a first that I never, ever wanted to experience. I know that’s a tiny change, a minuscule moment, in the grand scheme of things, but …
I pause at the top landing to press a hand to the center of my chest, still gripping the railing with my other hand. My heart beats against my rib cage — rapid but somehow heavy at the same time. And not because I’ve practically just run up dozens of steep stairs, though that’s obviously a factor.
I bow my head and just weather the moment. Thick curls of my hair, which I allowed Sully to play with this morning before we climbed aboard the helicopter, fall forward all around my face. I just need a breath, another breath, before I once again rally.
I should have known I might run into Elias. And therefore I really should have called ahead and made certain I was welcome. But I … I thought, so stupidly, that some level of friendship had been growing between us. And on top of my grief and the reason I’m here, that has thrown me.
Ultimately, despite all my best intentions, I am that selfish.
Selfish, completely self-centered, not to have called ahead. And now selfish to be shocked that I’m really not welcome. That I’m actually … intrusive.
The scuff of a shoe on the stairs just below me tells me I’m not alone. Though I’m not certain how Elias has followed me so closely without my knowing.
He can shield himself from me somehow. Here in his offices, at least. He hadn’t been doing so at Lake Thun.
I lift my head, get the door to the balcony open, and step out into the cool of the late morning before I’m actually ready to be moving. It’s an acquired skill — doing things I don’t want to do, fueled only by pure, willful determination.
A stone parapet and balustrade sweeps around the curve of the upper tower, though the offices below have been carved out in straight lines. If I walked to the far left and peered back, I’d see the modern glass edifice that the World Council built behind the traditional council seat about twenty years ago.
I do walk to the left, but I don’t bother peering up at the ridiculous monument. Not that I think the World Council, led by my father, is ridiculous. I just disagree with the need for so much … flash.
Maybe it’s just me.
Still, plenty of the council’s members choose to retain their offices in the original building, so perhaps I’m not the only one who doesn’t feel a need to throw away all tradition in order to be perceived as relevant in the modern world.
I shrug my backpack off, retrieving Armin’s urn from its depths. I set the urn on the low balustrade, cupping it in both hands as I look out over the city. Zurich spreads out in three directions from this vantage point, though I’m not situated quite high enough to see across all the rooftops. There’s a green space at the base of the World Council buildings. Set up for security purposes, mostly, but it’s also pretty. Even with the trees barely in bud and the display of spring flowers still to come.
Elias hesitates in the open doorway behind and to my right. His gaze is on me, not the view.
And yes, I can feel that intent from him again.
A chill breeze plays with my hair, and my hands grow colder and colder against the marble of Armin’s urn. But now that I’ve achieved my primary goal, I’m stuck in the moment. My thoughts are disorganized. I haven’t forgotten why I’m here, of course, but my plan suddenly seems … so trite. So indulgent.
