The Year of the Tiger (Book 3 of The Almair Series) (Completed)

Chapter 56

I heaved a sad sigh and set the cup down on the table beside me. "It's not time," I said, and Hermes broke his staring contest with the cup and looked at me.

"No," he mused, cocking his head and studying me with intense gray eyes. "It isn't." He cleared his throat and gestured to the cup that I had set on the table. "Finish the drink," he warned, sitting down on the seat before the bed. "We don't want any... lasting effects for you doing this."

I held back an eye roll and picked up the cup again. "Why did you bring me here?" I asked before I took a sip of the tea. "I know that you wouldn't have brought me here if you didn't need me for something."

Hermes sighed and nodded before he moved a hand across his face, looking worn and tired. "So, I was able to figure out what the shirt looked like as well as maybe get you a scent to identify the person that owned it."

"You don't sound so sure, though," I pointed out, and he chuckled and shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I am not so sure. You have been one of the few Halftons that I have personally worked with and the only Almair that I know and worked with."

I nodded and took another sip of the tea. "How old are you?" I asked, and he chuckled.

"Old enough to be your grandfather," he said, winking before he stood up and cleared his throat.

I paused and stared at him with wide eyes, and the older male stared at me with wide eyes as well. My mind whirred around a mile a minute, and that thought never left my mind.

Was he my grandfather?

Looking back, I could pick up moments that it felt like he was with how he looked at me with gentle eyes that held knowledge in them or the way he provided me warmth and comfort while I was here. I could pick up the pride as if he was happy to see me and knew what I thought before I even asked.

But why didn't he ever visit me?

Hermes sighed, breaking me from my thoughts, and cleared his throat. He looked graver and older while he sat back down, whatever he wanted to get for me forgotten while he cursed himself for telling me something that I wasn't supposed to know.

"I am not going to ask, Hermes," I said. "It's not time yet, isn't it?"

"No," he said with a soft sigh. He cleared his throat again and shook his head. "It isn't." The male forced a smile on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It's not time for you to know what I mean, but you will one day."

Slowly I nodded and cleared my throat. "What were you trying to get?" I asked, cocking my head. I was curious about what he wanted me to see and knew that he needed a reminder for whatever it was and to take his mind off of whatever thoughts he had.

Hermes furrowed his brows in confusion and blinked. He cocked his head and studied me before his eyes grew wide when he thought of what he wanted to show me. "Oh," he said, hopping from his seat. "Yes, yes." He cleared his throat and moved over to his workbench. "I was able to draw a rough sketch of what the shirt looked like. However, I have forgotten where I placed the piece of the shirt. I wanted you to smell it before I showed you the shirt."

I didn't reply and smirked while I drank my tea. Amusement filled my body while I watched him struggle to find the missing shirt in his hand. "You know that it is in your hand, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow after I had finished drinking my tea. "It's been there the whole time, Hermes."

Hermes looked at the piece of his shirt and chuckled uncomfortably. "Oh," he said. He cleared his throat and walked over to me. "Here. Take this. Are you done with the tea?"

I nodded and handed him the cup before I took the piece of shirt, mumbling my thanks. Furrowing my brows, I caught a whiff of a scent that I knew so long ago, and my stomach clenched in pain. "Strange..." I mumbled, moving the shirt in my hands.

"What is it?" Hermes asked where he placed the cup before moving to his work table to get the shirt's design. "Did you pick up a scent?"

"I think so," I replied. "However, I have no idea why it's that scent." I moved the shirt to my nose and took in a deep breath, the tightening in my stomach growing stronger. A lump appeared in my throat, and all I wanted to do was go home and cry because I had no idea why I was smelling his scent on this piece of shirt.

Was this some joke?

Was he alive, and I didn't know it?

"Do you know who owns that scent?" Hermes asked in front of me. His voice was soft, and I could hear this sadness in it that I hadn't expected. Gently, he placed his hand on my knee and squeezed reassuringly. "Whose scent is it?"

I pulled the shirt away from my nose and cleared my throat before I wiped my eyes, not knowing that I was crying. I stared into my mentor's gray eyes, the lump in my throat making it hard for me to talk.

Hermes's eyes softened, and he handed me what he was looking for on his desk. "This is what I think the male had worn," he said softly. "I apologize for the rough sketch because I am not much of an artist. However, I don't think you need to know what the shirt looks like. Do you?"

I hesitated but took the paper from him, and when I saw it, my heart almost stopped beating because I knew this shirt. I knew who this shirt had belonged to because I was the one who had given it to him.

The shirt was for the band called 'Lynyrd Skynyrd,' and it was the shirt that I had given him the day before he had died. The picture looked the same, with blue stars circling the name, and a picture of a bird flew in the middle underneath the words.

"Well?" Hermes asked gently. He already knew; I could tell. He knew who the shirt belonged to and why it came into his possession, even though he was dead. "Who does the shirt belong to?"

I looked at the shirt, not able to meet the male's gaze. My throat closed, and it took all of my self-control not to burst into another round of tears.

Hermes placed his hand on mine and squeezed. His touch brought me comfort, even though I hadn't known him long. He stayed silent and rubbed the back of my hand.

"Ummm..." I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "It's Kalron Yin's shirt," I said. I looked at him and took in a deep, shuddering breath before I looked at the drawing of the shirt and rubbed my hands across it. "It's the shirt that belonged to the man, who I had watched take his last breath when I was ten."