Chapter Twenty Two (The Lost Warrior)

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Wow, I'm really good at making myself miserable. Like, extremely good. Look, I wanted to talk to him, but I had no idea what I was going to say. I didn't want to make things worse between us, and I knew that if I opened my mouth and said what I was feeling, I probably would.

So I watched him, from afar. At dinner, which was the only meal he came down for, I would watch him while he wasn't looking. He always stared down at his plate, and he hardly talked to anybody. In the evening, when we were all unwinding, he would sit in the corner by himself and read. And when I went on patrols with him, which was increasingly frequent thanks to some divine force by the name of Peggy who kept switching her place on the morning patrol with me, he didn't talk then either.

I miss him. I miss him a lot. But what am I supposed to do? What can I do without making everything worse? Without losing him forever? It's better this way. I'm doing this for the good of both of us, so it won't hurt so much when he's gone. I'm sparing us the pain. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

One night, when I couldn't catch an ounce of sleep, I closed my eyes and listened to the world surrounding me. I thought I heard music. Faintly, but it was there.

The next morning, he walked downstairs, completely different. Gray, cat-like eyes; black dragon wings in place of his usual white ones; his magenta overcoat was replaced with a simple and discreet black one; and all topped off with horns curling in front of his ears and up. He said nothing, staring at the ground.

That's how I knew he was becoming more and more distant as the days dragged on.

"Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I think you look cool," said Philip, grinning at him.

For once, Thomas smiled. "Thanks. There was a tail, but I decided it was too much work. Trying to make a statement, you know?"

"Really?"

"No."

The days dragged on, and I saw him less and less and less until I went entire days without seeing him. I tried to bring it up with Eliza, but whenever we talked about it, she gave me the same speech she gave me the day we were on Nevis. So I stopped talking about him.

I sat at the table, taking a sip of tea. It burned my throat going down, and it tasted absolutely horrible, but without coffee, it would have to do. James, who was sitting across from me, raised his head in greeting and nodded to something behind me. Thomas was standing in the doorway, his hand resting on the wooden frame.

I tried not to let my eyes wonder up and down his body for too long, but I couldn't help it. He was back to what I had grown accustomed to before the whole Tenebrie thing. I wondered how much work it took him to stay like that, but he looked just as beautiful as always.

For a second, I considered waving to him. Inviting him to sit and smiling to him as he did so. Talking to him like he was my Thomas again. But then, he spoke.

"I'm going back to Avionerra," he said abruptly, ending the current conversation about how Lafayette couldn't live off of a diet of just grass and grain like a chicken. All eyes flickered to him, and when he had everybody's attention, he pushed forwards, launching into something that he had obviously spent time going over and practicing. "I don't know for how long I'll be gone, or when I'll be back. Or even if I'll be back." His voice was cold, displaying nothing, and his posture was just as straight as ever, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes.

My mouth went dry, and as I desperately tried to think of something to say, nothing came to mind. My stomach plummeted faster than someone falling through air. He might not be coming back. He might not be coming back. Divinity, what would I do then? What would I do without him?

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