Chapter 236: A Tale Of Ghosts

Matthew snorted and quickly covered his mouth with one hand, though it did little to hide the grin spreading across his face. “Oh, you’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to use that one.” He lowered his hand and looked far too pleased with himself. “Suppose you could say I’ve been…” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “Dying to use it.”

He immediately burst into laughter at his own joke, doubling over and clutching his stomach as though the effort of laughing might somehow hurt a body he no longer possessed. Godric could only stare at him while the horror on his face gradually gave way to an uncomfortable mixture of disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.

Matthew eventually straightened and dabbed a ghostly tear from the corner of his eye with one finger before flicking it away with a dramatic little flourish. “Oh, I used to do that sort of thing all the time with my friends,” he said, glancing aside as he tapped thoughtfully at his chin. “They never laughed either, which I still maintain was entirely a failure on their part.” His attention snapped back to Godric almost immediately, his whole expression brightening. “Anyway!”

His body dissolved into wisps of azure smoke, and before Godric could even process what was happening, Matthew reformed directly in front of him, close enough to make him jerk backward and clutch the sword tight against his chest. Matthew merely smiled, apparently delighted by the reaction. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said brightly, resting one hand against his chest with an easy, theatrical grace. “Though I suppose introductions on your end would be rather redundant, wouldn’t they?”

His eyes glimmered with amusement as he gave Godric an appreciative once-over. “I daresay half of Avalon knows your name by now, darling. Godric Gryffindor, the Lion of Ignis himself.”

Godric immediately backed away another step. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he blurted, lowering the sword while raising one finger as though he could somehow organize the flood of questions fighting to leave his mouth. “What? Who? How? Why?!”

Matthew folded his arms and released an exaggerated sigh, regarding Godric with the patient amusement of someone waiting for him to catch up. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re utterly speechless, and really, who could blame you?”

A smug little smile curled across his lips as he tipped his head. “I’ve always had that effect on people. I like to think it’s the charm, personally, and while being dead does come with an absolutely dreadful list of inconveniences, I’m delighted to report that it has done nothing whatsoever to diminish that particular gift.”

He leaned closer, his grin turning playfully self-satisfied. “Go on, darling. You can admit it. You’re completely stricken by me.”

“S-Stricken?” Godric repeated, his face twisting in disbelief. “No! By Charlemagne, no!” He pointed accusingly at Matthew. “You’re a ghost! But you can’t be a ghost, because ghosts don’t exist. They’re stories, they’re just—!”

His words abruptly died as something finally clicked, and his crimson eyes widened even further. “Wait… did you say your name was Garrety?” He stared at Matthew as recognition settled in. “Matthew Garrety? The same Matthew Garrety? The one who—”

Matthew tilted his head and gave him a knowing look. “Yes, yes, yes, and absolutely yes.” He scratched the side of his head with a sheepish smile. “In hindsight, choosing the Observatory for our little Bellum Inter Duos was probably not one of my more inspired decisions.” He gave the side of his head a light smack. “I rather brought that one on myself.”

Matthew released a long, theatrical sigh and folded his arms across his chest. “Still, if we’re searching for silver linings, I suppose being dead is considerably more merciful than whatever became of my fellow clansmen. A quarter of a century locked away in Revel’s End?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Darling, if I weren’t already dead, I’d probably be wishing for it after the first few years from boredom alone, and don’t even get me started on what I’ve heard about the hygiene—”

“Oh, by the Gods, stop.” Godric raised one hand as he scowled, then pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “My head feels like it’s about to explode, and you rambling is really not helping.”

“Oh, terribly sorry, darling.” Matthew lifted both hands, although the apology lasted barely a heartbeat before he continued. “It’s just been so bloody long since anyone could hear me. I’ve spent years wandering these halls, and believe me, I’ve seen everything.”

He gestured expansively around the room. “The good, the bad, the tragic, the embarrassing, the downright stupid…” His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “And the filthy little scandals everyone thinks stay behind locked doors. Spoiler alert, they don’t.”

Godric slowly lowered his hand from his face, already disliking where the conversation was headed.

Matthew’s grin widened. “Half this castle acts prim and proper in daylight, then night falls and suddenly everyone’s sneaking around like horny little goblins with no sense of shame.” He pointed casually toward Godric. “And before you ask, yes, that includes you and your girl. Gods above, the two of you were terrible at being discreet.”

Godric’s entire face flushed scarlet. “Wait, you saw us?!” he blurted, staring at Matthew in horror. “Y-you were watching us?!”

Matthew gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, calm your tits, darling, I see everyone. Occupational hazard of being able to walk through walls while nobody knows you exist.” He rested one hand against his hip and gave Godric an almost offended look. “You make it sound as though I was lurking outside specifically for you. I have standards.”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

“It makes it slightly better,” Matthew corrected before his grin returned. “Besides, I wasn’t sitting there taking notes. Most of the time I’d drift through a wall, see two idiots going at it like the castle was about to explode, and immediately regret having eyes.” His expression brightened. “You and Raine were adorable, though. Disgustingly so. The sort of couple that makes everybody else want to either find true love or vomit into a bucket.”

Godric’s expression tightened, though some of the outrage gave way to embarrassment. “Please stop talking.”

Matthew gave Godric a slow, shameless once-over, the kind that made absolutely no effort to hide where his attention lingered. “I will say this, though, darling, you’ve become rather popular. Girls stare, boys stare, and half of them look ready to throw themselves at you like ravenous wolves the moment you give them so much as a smile.”

His gaze dipped pointedly below Godric’s belt before drifting back up, and the grin on his face sharpened into something thoroughly indecent. “And from what I’ve seen, you’re hardly lacking in that particular department either. More importantly, you seem to know exactly what you’re doing with it, considering how good you are at making people scream.” He snorted, then added with obvious delight, “Although in Raine’s case, I suppose howl would be the more appropriate word.”

Godric’s expression contorted as the color rushed into his face so quickly that even the tips of his ears turned red, but Matthew only looked more entertained by the reaction.

“Oh, don’t look so scandalized. I’m complimenting you.” Matthew let out an exaggerated sigh and rested one hand against his chest as though mourning some great personal tragedy. “It’s such a shame you’ve gone and devoted yourself entirely to one person, though. Very romantic, very noble, terribly sweet, and an absolute waste for everyone else unfortunate enough to have eyes.”

He leaned closer with a grin. “And before you ask, yes, I’d have fancied you too if I still had a pulse. Tragic, really. All this charm, impeccable taste, and not a functioning body left with which to make a string of spectacularly poor decisions.”

His eyes traveled down Godric once more, lingering deliberately before he slowly licked his lips and gave him a wicked smile. “Believe me, darling, if circumstances were considerably less deceased on my end, I would’ve been more than happy to take a ride myself.”

Godric recoiled as though Matthew had physically struck him. “Oh, you’re sick!” he exclaimed, pointing at him. “Y-you… d-degenerate!”

“Oh, darling, please.” Matthew flicked one hand dismissively. “I’ve been dead for years. I’ve had plenty of time to make peace with being an absolute menace.” He spread his translucent arms and glanced down at himself. “Besides, sticks and stones can’t break my bones because I no longer bloody have any, so at this point I may as well enjoy myself.”

Matthew’s expression softened, and for once the teasing glint in his eyes faded completely. “All that aside, darling, I’m… terribly sorry for what happened,” he said. “With Raine, I mean. I was there, you know.”

The embarrassment and irritation drained from Godric’s face almost immediately, leaving him still and attentive.

“I don’t mean only for the…” Matthew cleared his throat delicately, and the faintest trace of mischief returned to his mouth. “More explicit moments.” He grinned when Godric shot him a glare, though the humor disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “I mean the rest of it too, the quiet moments, the ridiculous ones, and all those terribly romantic little things the two of you probably thought nobody else noticed. Watching you and Raine made me cry more than once. You weren’t simply adorable together, darling. You were beautiful.”

Matthew drew in a slow breath that his dead lungs did not need, and his gaze drifted somewhere beyond Godric. “For the first time in years, I found myself yearning to be alive again. I regretted dying because I wanted just one more chance to feel something like that, to have someone look at me the way she looked at you and to know I could look back at them the same way.” A small, rueful laugh escaped him. “I envied you terribly, and believe me, darling, I was hardly the only one in this school who did.”

His smile lingered for a moment before giving way to something sadder. “But life, for all the lovely things people say about it, can be spectacularly cruel. When Professor Workner and Bran Ravenclaw gave you that ultimatum, I screamed at them even though neither could hear me. I shouted until my throat should have hurt, threw my fists against the walls, and spent hours furious at everyone involved because I knew exactly what they were asking you to lose.”

His eyes lowered toward the floor as the memory settled more heavily between them. “Then that night came, and whatever anger I had left stopped mattering.”

Godric slowly lowered his sword, the tension easing from his shoulders as he turned his gaze away.

“I heard you,” Matthew continued. “I heard you scream, and I watched you fall to your knees after everything was over. I remember standing there wishing harder than I ever had for the Gods to give me my body back, even if it were only for a few seconds, because I wanted nothing more than to put my arms around you and hold you until there was nothing left for you to cry out.”

A bitter little laugh escaped him as he shook his head. “Apparently death doesn’t spare you from that sort of pain either. You lose the heartbeat, the breath, the warmth, and just about everything else that makes you alive, but somehow the heart still finds a way to hurt.”

His eyes lifted back to Godric, carrying none of their earlier playfulness now. “That, I’ve learned, is the one ache you never truly leave behind.”

Godric drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, allowing some of the heaviness in his chest to leave with it. “Yeah, well…” He stepped toward the bed, picked up his scabbard, and guided the sword back inside with a soft scrape of steel. “It’s in the past now.”

Matthew watched him quietly as Godric rested one hand against the scabbard and continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ll never stop loving her. She was my world, my life, and I’ll love her until my dying breath.” He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself before opening them again. “But I can’t let that pain keep me tethered to the past forever. Headmaster Blaise once told me not to dwell on dreams and forget to live, and I think I finally understand what he meant.”

A soft smile touched his lips as he reached beneath his uniform and closed his hand around the locket resting against his chest. “I have to keep walking forward, no matter how much it hurts, and wherever this life takes me, I can at least take comfort in knowing I’ll see her again someday, whether it’s in this life… or the next.”

An audible sniff broke the quiet, and when Godric looked back, he found Matthew openly crying, translucent tears shimmering beneath his eyes as he pressed both hands dramatically against his cheeks. “Oh, darling, that was so…” He clapped his hands together and gave Godric a misty-eyed smile. “I swear, I could actually feel my heart melting just listening to you.”

Matthew paused, blinked, and slowly glanced down at his translucent chest.

“Oh, but I haven’t got a heart anymore.”

Godric stared at him with one eyebrow raised before rolling his eyes. “Anyway…” He rested the sheathed sword beside the bed and stretched his aching shoulders. “It’s late, it’s been one hell of a day, and all I want right now is a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.”

He had barely started toward the closet when Matthew dissolved into a swirl of azure smoke and reappeared beside him with a delighted grin. “Oooh, mind if I join you, darling? Speaking of showers, I could tell you all about some of the boys I’ve seen wandering around those bathrooms over the years.”

He drifted closer until his mouth was near Godric’s ear. “Some of them are rather… generously endowed. Your friend Slytherin, for example.” Matthew snickered into his hand. “That is not a snake, darling. That is an anaconda.”

“Oh, Charlemagne, God!” Godric recoiled so violently that he nearly walked straight into the closet door. “Why are you like this?!”

Before Matthew could offer what would undoubtedly have been an even worse answer, a knock sounded from the door.

“Godric?”

Both of them turned toward it at once, and Godric immediately recognized Helena’s voice. His eyes widened before he hurried across the room and pulled the door open, finding her standing in the corridor with a puzzled expression.

“Helena! Good evening.” Godric forced an enormous, painfully awkward smile onto his face. “What’s the problem?”

Helena raised an eyebrow as she looked him over. “Um, I hope I’m not interrupting anything, and more importantly, I’m glad you’re back.” Her gaze traveled over him from head to toe, taking in the bandages and the general state he had returned in. “You can bet the rest of us have a ton of questions for you tomorrow, but…”

She leaned slightly to one side and glanced past him into the room, while Matthew floated beside the doorway with an amused smile, watching the exchange as though it were the most entertaining thing he had seen all evening. “It’s after quiet hours, and you’re kinda… well, being loud.” Her eyes returned to Godric, curiosity creeping into her expression. “Besides, who were you talking to?”

“Don’t do it, darling,” Matthew warned, folding his arms as his grin widened. “You’re going to look spectacularly stupid if you do.”

“As a matter of fact…” Godric stepped aside and gestured directly toward Matthew. “Why don’t you say hello to him?”

Helena peered into the room, her gaze passing directly over Matthew before returning to Godric with growing confusion. “Godric… there’s no one there.”

Godric’s smile vanished. “What do you mean there’s no one there?” He gestured more emphatically toward Matthew, who was visibly struggling not to laugh. “He’s standing right there! That’s Matthew Garrety.”

Helena’s face twisted in pure confusion. “Garrety? As in the boy who died when that Bellum Inter Duos went wrong?” she asked, her brows drawing together. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He’s here!” Godric blurted, throwing both hands toward Matthew. “He’s standing right there. I mean, he’s not exactly back from the dead.” He faltered, realizing how ridiculous he sounded even as the words left his mouth. “Well, maybe technically he is, but not in the whole crawling-out-of-a-grave sense. He’s more like…” Godric glanced helplessly at Matthew, then back at Helena. “He’s a ghost!”

Helena’s confusion gradually turned into genuine concern as she clasped her hands in front of herself. “Godric, I’m saying this as your friend and with all the love in the world, but did Mereoleona conk you over the head harder than you thought?” She studied his face with increasing worry. “Because if she did, I really think you need to pay Doctor Adani a—”

“Wait, what? No!” Godric blurted, shaking his head. “I’m not—”

He stopped himself and slowly turned toward Matthew.

Matthew gave him a level stare, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed how much he was enjoying this. “Darling, have you forgotten our entire conversation already? I realize the raunchier portions rather dominated proceedings, but I did quite sincerely mention that you were the only person who could see me.”

Godric stared at him for several seconds before realization crashed over his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaled through his nose, and turned back toward Helena.

“You know what? You’re right.” He rubbed the back of his neck and forced out a nervous chuckle. “The training was insane, the Vermillions were even more insane, I’ve barely slept, and apparently I’m so exhausted that I’ve started rambling to myself.”

Helena gave him a long, unconvinced stare. “I’m serious, Godric. Promise me you’ll visit Doctor Adani tomorrow, because if you don’t, I’m going to have to file a report with the faculty.”

Godric nodded quickly. “Alright, alright, I promise. I’ll see Doctor Adani tomorrow.”

Her expression finally softened, though traces of concern remained in her eyes. “Good. Now get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Yeah. Good night, Helena.”

She smiled and turned away, heading down the corridor while Godric remained in the doorway and waved after her with the same strained smile plastered across his face. He waited until she disappeared around the corner before slowly closing the door, and the moment the latch clicked into place, he remained there with his forehead resting against the wood while Matthew’s barely contained snickering filled the room behind him.

“Oh, baby, if you aren’t the cutest bloody thing on this side of Caerleon,” Matthew said, resting his cheek against one fist as he regarded Godric with shameless amusement. “I can certainly see why Raine fancied you so. You’re absolutely adorable when you’re flustered.”

“Argh!” Godric threw both hands up in frustration before turning on him. “What the hell is going on?” He jabbed a finger toward Matthew, keeping his voice low enough that Helena would not hear him from halfway down the corridor. “How am I the only person in this whole damned castle who can see you?”

“Darling, if I knew the answer to that, do you honestly think I’d still be wandering around here wondering the exact same thing?” Matthew straightened and folded his arms, tilting his head as he considered the question. “Back in Divinations, we learned that some people are born with something called the Sight. Psychics, Espers, mediums, people who can see spirits and all that wonderfully spooky nonsense.” He gave a loose gesture with one hand. “Perhaps you happen to have the gift as well.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Godric blurted before catching himself. “That doesn’t make any sense, and even if it were true, I couldn’t possibly be the only one. Someone else would’ve seen you by now.”

Matthew’s mouth curled into a knowing grin. “Well, when one finds oneself tangled in something particularly bizarre and inexplicable, there is only one person sensible enough to ask.” His brows lifted. “Miss Little-Know-It-All herself, who just so happens to be a Ravenclaw.”

Godric’s eyes widened. “Are you insane?” He gestured sharply toward the door. “You saw how Helena reacted when I told her. You really think Rowena’s going to take it any better if I walk up to her tomorrow and say, ‘Good morning, by the way, I’ve got a dead Ventus student following me around and making filthy comments’?”

“As the saying goes, darling, you won’t know unless you try,” Matthew replied with a grin. “And besides, I doubt you particularly fancy remaining the only living soul in this entire castle who knows I exist.” He drifted closer, dropping his tone with theatrical menace. “Because until we figure this out, I will be here every second of every hour of every day until you finally walk through those doors for the last time.” His grin widened. “Just imagine all the juicy little gossip I’ll have, and only you to share it with.”

Godric stared at him for several long seconds before his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine, I’ll talk to Rowena first thing tomorrow.”

Matthew beamed and reached over to pat him on the head, only for his hand to pass straight through Godric’s skull. The touch left behind an icy chill that raced down Godric’s spine and made him shudder from head to toe.

“That’s a good boy,” Matthew said with a pleased smirk. “Now, I suppose I ought to grant you some…” He wiggled his fingers suggestively. “Privacy. I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of each other soon enough.”

He blew Godric an exaggerated kiss and gave him a playful little wave. “Ta-ta, darling.”

Matthew drifted backward toward the wall, his body dissolving into wisps of azure smoke as he phased effortlessly through the stone and disappeared from sight.

Godric stood there staring at the empty wall for a moment before dragging both hands down his face and letting out a long, exhausted groan. “By the Gods, this term just keeps getting better and better.”

****

The following Sunday morning unfolded much as Sundays always did among the students of Excalibur Academy, in a peculiar mixture of euphoria, regret, exhaustion, and dull routine left over from the night before, often followed by outright panic when someone suddenly remembered an assignment due the following morning. In other words, it was a perfectly ordinary Sunday at Excalibur. While some students packed themselves into the library in hopes of avoiding the wrath of Professor Serfence or Professor Rasputin, others had already made plans to venture into Caerleon for a little shopping, a late breakfast, or simply something to do before lessons resumed.

Beyond the Academy grounds, trains and airships were already arriving throughout the Crossroads City, carrying students back from every corner of Avalon. Some had spent the weekend visiting family, while others returned from brief excursions to distant cities and nations scattered across the sprawling continent. Even amid the usual Sunday traffic, however, there was an unmistakable charge hanging over Caerleon. The mayoral race was beginning to gather momentum, and although the election itself remained months away, the competing campaigns had already become increasingly visible throughout the city.

Lord Graymark’s campaign had proven particularly aggressive, drawing support from much of Caerleon’s more conservative population with promises to rebuild the city into an even greater financial and economic powerhouse after the devastation of the Siege. His speeches frequently centered on restoring order, strengthening trade, and expanding Caerleon’s influence throughout Avalon, although many citizens remained deeply uneasy with his pledge to abolish the city’s sanctuary status and his increasingly favorable stance toward the Authority.

Younger voters, meanwhile, had begun gravitating toward Jacob, the grandson of Mayor Ramonda, whose platform promised broader social reforms and a more progressive direction for Caerleon’s recovery. Graymark’s supporters had wasted little time portraying him as little more than an extension of his grandmother’s administration, arguing that electing him would leave the city trapped beneath the same policies they blamed for its stagnation, while accusations of nepotism had followed Jacob’s campaign from the moment he announced his candidacy. His supporters had pushed back just as aggressively, dismissing those attacks as little more than an attempt to reduce him to his family name rather than confront the reforms he was actually proposing.

Yet while Graymark and Jacob remained fixated on tearing holes in one another’s campaigns, neither appeared particularly concerned with Tengen, the third candidate steadily carving out his own place in the race. Far less was known about him, particularly when compared with the two established political families dominating Caerleon’s attention, but his campaign had positioned itself somewhere between them, blending progressive reforms with more conservative economic and social priorities in an effort to appeal to both younger and older citizens. The approach had begun drawing interest across the city, though plenty remained wary of placing Caerleon in the hands of a foreign candidate with few obvious ties to the Crossroads City itself.

Inside Castle Excalibur, however, another struggle entirely was beginning to unfold.

The Room of Requirement had taken the form of a severe chamber of dull gray stone, its walls illuminated by crystal sconces whose pale light converged upon a single long table positioned at the center. Twelve chairs had been arranged around it, six along either side, though only eleven were currently occupied. An enchanted fireplace burned quietly nearby, casting shifting shadows over the faces gathered around the table and sharpening every tense line of their expressions. The warm scent of tea drifted through the room from delicate china cups and silver pots, mingling with the sweetness of jam and marmalade beside trays piled with scones, muffins, and biscuits, though the hospitality did little to soften the atmosphere.

On one side sat the six Visionaries. Arthur and Genji held themselves with rigid composure, their gazes fixed firmly across the table, while Artoria appeared to be exercising considerably more effort not to reach for violence. Her sapphire eyes had narrowed into a glare, and one hand remained planted firmly on the pommel of her sword as though she were waiting for someone to give her sufficient reason to draw it. Corvus, by comparison, seemed positively entertained, lounging in his seat with an amused grin as he watched the tension mount, while the remaining two Visionaries sat farther along the table in near silence, their features partially obscured beneath the shadows cast across their respective seats.

Opposite them sat the Prefects, although one chair remained conspicuously empty. Lochlan maintained his usual cold composure as he pushed his glasses higher along the bridge of his nose, while Trevor sat with his arms folded and his expression set like stone. Tricia appeared entirely unconcerned with the hostility around her, carefully spreading butter across a scone before taking a generous bite and visibly enjoying it as though she had attended a pleasant Sunday brunch rather than what increasingly resembled the opening stages of a diplomatic crisis.

Michael sat with considerably greater poise, lifting his teacup for a measured sip before returning it gently to its saucer, though his eyes never strayed far from Artoria or her brother. At the center of the Prefects’ side, directly opposite Artoria, sat Lucian, whose expression remained carefully hardened despite the small twitch in his eyebrow that betrayed just how much strain it was taking to maintain it.

For several long moments, neither side spoke, and with every passing second, the silence between the Visionaries and the Prefects grew heavier than the stone walls surrounding them.

Lucian drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, adjusting his glasses before leveling his gaze at Artoria. “Before we begin, there is one rather glaring issue I would like addressed.”

His attention immediately shifted toward the man standing beside the hearth, his back resting casually against the stone wall and his arms folded across an immaculate black three-piece suit. Gabriel kept his eyes on the table, though the thin grin tugging at the corner of his mouth made it clear he was enjoying Lucian’s irritation.

“What, in the name of the Gods, is he doing here?” Lucian asked, his expression tightening into a scowl. “Did I not make it perfectly clear that this meeting was to remain between the Visionaries and the Disciplinary Committee? As far as I am aware, my brother Gabriel belongs to neither.”

“Oh, we are well aware of that, dear Lucian,” Arthur replied, his tone carrying an almost conversational lightness even though something much harder sat beneath it. “Gabriel is here by request, and considering the circumstances, I scarcely believe you need me to explain why.”

Lucian’s face tightened further as he turned fully toward him. “We have not even begun, and already you seem intent on making a mockery of this meeting. Is it really too much to ask for a little cooperation, or perhaps even a passing respect for order?”

Across the table, Artoria’s fingers tightened around the pommel of her sword until the leather creaked faintly beneath her grip. Genji noticed the movement immediately and cleared his throat before the tension could sharpen any further.

“Perhaps it would be best if we moved past this and focus on what we were actually summoned here to discuss,” he said calmly. “It is, after all, Sunday, and according to scripture, a day intended for rest. I believe I speak for everyone present when I say this is probably the last place any of us wished to spend it.”

His gaze traveled slowly across both sides of the table before he inclined his head. “So, I would ask, respectfully, that we dispense with the unnecessary hostility and get on with it.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened as his gaze snapped toward Gabriel, who answered the look with nothing more than an easy gesture of one hand, as though inviting him to carry on. After a moment, Lucian turned back toward the table and adjusted his glasses once more. “Very well, then. Let us begin.”

His eyes moved across the Visionaries one by one before settling on Arthur. “And just so we are perfectly clear from the outset, we will address you as the Visionaries, nothing more. Not as some shadowy cabal, nor as the self-appointed authority you have granted yourselves and, frankly, grown far too comfortable wielding.”

He brought his hands together and steepled his fingers upon the tabletop. “Firstly, I would like to establish one point beyond dispute. The Disciplinary Committee is legitimate, formally constituted, and endorsed by Headmaster Blaise himself, which means it carries the full authority of this Academy.”

Arthur’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly, though Lucian continued without pause. “As such, oversight of the Academy’s rules, along with their enforcement, falls squarely within our remit. Those rules apply to every student beneath this roof, including the Visionaries, and so do the consequences that follow when they are broken.”

Across from him, Artoria’s gaze sharpened as the firelight flickered across her sapphire eyes, while her hand remained fixed around the pommel of her sword.

Lucian drew in a measured breath before continuing. “With that established, it has come to my attention that there has been a certain degree of…” He paused, choosing the word with obvious restraint. “Pushback, shall we say, along with a rather persistent lack of cooperation between yourselves, your Dorm Monitors, and the elected Head Prefects.”

His fingers separated as both hands settled flat against the table. “Now, I am perfectly aware of your disdain for the Committee, and believe me when I say that every one of you has done a piss-poor job of concealing it.”

Corvus let out a short laugh, drawing the attention of nearly everyone at the table. “Concealing it?” he repeated, sounding genuinely entertained. “How utterly adorable.” His dark eyes flicked toward Gabriel, who met the look with a knowing smile, before Corvus turned his attention back to Lucian. “I am not entirely certain whether what I am witnessing is delusion or denial. Perhaps some particularly odious mixture of both. Either way, allow me to spare you the confusion and make this abundantly clear on behalf of myself and my fellow Visionaries.”

He leaned forward slightly, the amusement in his expression never quite reaching his eyes. “We have never hidden our contempt for your Committee. In fact, you might consider offering thanks to the Gods that most of you are still permitted to draw breath, because I have seen men meet considerably worse ends for considerably lesser offenses, and I speak from experience.”

Lochlan gave a derisive scoff from farther down the table. “Pretentious, aren’t we?”

Corvus slowly turned his head toward him, and the grin that spread across his face was almost pleasant. “Oh, he speaks. How delightful.” He rested an elbow against the arm of his chair. “And here I was beginning to think the Murdocs had finally evolved beyond speech entirely, given the rather unfortunate family condition that appears to leave each generation without anything resembling a spine.”

Lochlan’s expression darkened immediately, and his shoulders shifted as though he were about to answer, but a single sidelong glance from Trevor stopped him before the words could leave his mouth.

“Regardless,” Lucian cut in, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose as he fixed the Visionaries with a level stare. “We have been patient. More specifically, I have been patient. I told myself that perhaps all of you simply needed time to adjust, that if we allowed enough distance and enough room to breathe, then eventually we might find some common ground and learn to coexist without turning every disagreement into a contest of wills.”

He straightened in his chair, his expression hardening as he continued. “I have given you ample time, and I have extended far more leeway and tolerance than I suspect any of you deserved. Clearly, that was na?ve of me, because you and your followers have made it perfectly clear that peace was never something you intended to pursue.”

A shadow seemed to pass across the Visionaries as Lucian raised one finger, making it clear that he had no intention of yielding the floor. “Do not mistake our restraint for idleness. The Disciplinary Committee has spent the last several weeks filling its ranks, consolidating its authority, and preparing for full deployment. We are now on the eve of putting that structure into practice, which means enforcement will begin in earnest, and when it does, the rules of this Academy will be applied exactly as written, without exception and without quarter.”

His gaze moved slowly from one Visionary to the next. “The Congregation’s days are numbered. The High Table’s days are numbered, and soon enough, real order will be restored to this school in the manner it was always meant to be.”

Lucian allowed the silence to settle before his eyes swept the length of the table. “So, it is time for every one of you to decide where you stand. I do not care whether you call yourselves Visionaries, and I do not care what you accomplished to earn those titles, because every student in this bloody school will be given the same choice.”

His fingers pressed against the tabletop. “They can choose their studies, their education, and their place within Excalibur, or they can continue playing make-believe in some foolish little club where they pretend that the influence and power, they have accumulated in their private fantasy world somehow matters beyond these walls.”

His expression turned colder still. “Your titles exist because this Academy allowed them to exist, and anything granted by this institution can be taken away just as easily.”

Artoria’s fist slammed into the table before the last word had fully settled, the impact cracking through the chamber and rattling every piece of fine china within reach. Cups jumped against their saucers, tea spilled across the polished wood, silverware clattered against porcelain, and several scones toppled from the elevated tray as her chair scraped violently backward across the stone floor.

“Enough!” Artoria roared, her sapphire eyes blazing as she rose to her feet. “I have had enough! I have brooked your insolence, tolerated your impertinence, and listened to your self-important posturing for far longer than I should have!”

Arthur shifted as though he were about to intervene, but Genji caught his eye and gave the faintest shake of his head, silently telling him that this needed to be said.

“The fact that you,” Artoria continued, sweeping her gaze across the Prefects before settling it back on Lucian, “that all of you, have the gall to sit there and regard yourselves as our equals is already a bridge too far. None of you earned your place at this table the way we did, and none of you endured what we endured to stand where we stand now.”

Her stare sharpened on Lucian. “So, I will ask you plainly, Graymark, what exactly have you done? What have you accomplished that has convinced you that you possess the authority to make demands of us, much less threaten us?”

She leaned forward. one hand braced against the table as contempt crept into her expression. “Is it because Headmaster Blaise placed a collar around your neck and branded you his hound? Is that what has given you this inflated sense of importance, the belief that because the Headmaster gave you permission to bark, the rest of us are suddenly expected to heel?”

Artoria gave a cold scoff, never breaking eye contact. “Oh, Graymark, you are so deep in the muck that you have not even realized you are drowning in it.”

Lucian’s expression tightened, though before he could respond, Lochlan shifted in his chair and turned toward Artoria. “With all due respect, Your Highness, our authority was granted—”

“You will speak when you are spoken to, child,” Artoria snapped, cutting through him so sharply that Lochlan’s mouth closed almost at once. Her sapphire eyes fixed upon him with naked contempt. “The adults are speaking, so I suggest you keep that forked tongue safely behind your teeth, lest I decide to relieve you of it.”

Lochlan’s eyes widened at the threat, while Corvus merely tilted his head and regarded him with obvious amusement. “I’d heed her warning if I were you, chum,” he said, his smirk widening as Lochlan glanced toward him. “Coming from the Princess of Camelot, I can assure you that was no idle threat.”

Artoria’s attention returned to Lucian, and although her hand had finally left the pommel of her sword, nothing else about her demeanor had softened. “Allow me, on behalf of the Visionaries and, more importantly, the High Table, to make our position perfectly clear. We neither acknowledge nor condone your Committee, and whatever legitimacy Headmaster Blaise has attempted to grant you does nothing to change that.”

Her gaze swept slowly across the Prefects seated opposite her. “In truth, the only people being tolerated here are you and this gaggle of galoots playing pretend, clutching at some imagined authority while convincing yourselves that a badge and a title are enough to make the rest of us fall obediently into line.”

“Unlike your authority, ours was not handed to us because someone signed a piece of parchment and decided we ought to feel important. We earned our places through strength, skill, blood, and bone, and it is by that same strength that we continue to hold them. Every Visionary sitting before you fought for the right to stand where they stand, which is considerably more than can be said for a collection of students who were appointed to positions and promptly mistook administrative convenience for power.”

Arthur’s expression remained unreadable beside her, while Genji sat quietly with his hands folded, offering no attempt to restrain her.

“Headmaster Blaise’s decision to establish your Committee was not merely an affront to everything we are and everything we have built within this Academy. It was a grave insult, and one that none of us has forgotten, much less forgiven.” Artoria’s stare remained fixed upon Lucian. “For a time, however, we were willing to compromise. We held our tongues, allowed you room to operate, and made no effort to interfere so long as you afforded us the same courtesy. Somehow, you mistook that silence for permission, and our restraint appears to have fed an arrogance that has now brought us here.”

Her lips curled faintly as she studied him. “Believe me when I tell you, Graymark, you would be an extraordinary fool to imagine that badge of yours will serve as a shield against the storm you seem so determined to invite. I would have expected a man of your intelligence to recognize when he had taken one step too far, perhaps reflect upon it, and exercise some measure of caution.”

Her expression hardened instead. “But rather than do that, you summoned us here on a Sunday morning, seated yourself across from us with all the self-importance of a petty magistrate, and proceeded to make demands while threatening to dismantle something you plainly do not understand.”

Artoria straightened without taking her eyes from him, and when she spoke again, the anger in her words had settled into something quieter and far more severe. “To say that I am offended would be an understatement, and to say that the rest of us are merely insulted would be far too charitable.”

Silence settled over the table after Artoria finished, leaving only the low crackle of the enchanted fire and the faint clink of china as the last ripples of spilled tea settled in their saucers. Lucian’s fingers began drumming against the tabletop while he held Artoria’s gaze, and when he finally spoke, whatever restraint he had shown earlier had thinned considerably. “To follow on from Mister Murdoch’s earlier point, with all due respect, Your Highness, and begging your pardon for the language, neither I nor the Committee gives a rat’s arse about your personal feelings toward us.”

Artoria’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer audacity of it, while Arthur’s expression darkened beside her and even Genji shifted with visible unease.

“You may acknowledge us or refuse to acknowledge us as you please, because in the greater scheme of things, our existence does not depend upon your approval, nor do we require your permission to exercise the authority granted to us,” Lucian continued.

“The truth remains what it has always been, regardless of whether you find it palatable. We are a legitimate body established under the authority of this Academy, whereas the Congregation and the High Table are not. The rules under which we operate are the rules of Excalibur and the laws of Avalon, not these Old Ways you recite as though they were holy scripture.”

His eyes hardened as he looked directly at Artoria. “You may call yourselves Visionaries, but beneath the titles and ceremony, you are still members of the student body, and like every other student beneath this roof, you are bound by the same rules. You will fall into line, you will obey them, and most importantly…”

His gaze swept across the Visionaries before returning to her. “You will submit.”

Artoria began trembling, not from fear but from the sheer effort of keeping her fury contained. Her fingers curled into fists as her sapphire irises narrowed almost to pinpricks. “You… conceited, insolent, disrespectful—”

Every Visionary rose with her as she surged to her feet, chairs scraping violently across the stone floor, and the Prefects answered almost immediately. Hands went to wand holsters and sword hilts on both sides of the table as steel whispered from scabbards and the room tightened around the threat of violence.

“LITTLE WRETCH!”

Artoria’s sword came halfway free as Lucian’s hand closed around the hilt of his rapier, while wands were drawn just far enough for polished wood and metal to catch the firelight. Heavy breaths filled the space between them, teeth clenched and shoulders tensed as both sides stared across the table with the terrible certainty that one wrong movement would be enough to turn the meeting into a battlefield.

Then came the quiet clink of porcelain against porcelain.

Every eye shifted toward Michael as he calmly returned his teacup to its saucer. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, folded it neatly beside his plate, and rose from his chair with such unhurried composure that the contrast bordered on absurd.

“Well, I must admit, finding myself in the middle of a potential brawl before I have even finished my morning tea was certainly not on today’s list of engagements,” he drawled, his tone almost offensively casual given the weapons around him. His gaze moved toward Artoria, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Always so quick to anger. I must say, Your Highness, your extraordinary talent for taking virtually everything as a personal affront remains one of those little flaws you may wish to address eventually.”

Artoria’s expression hardened further, but Michael raised one hand before she could respond. “My apologies in advance, because I am quite aware that was hardly helpful.” He slipped both hands into his pockets and looked between the two sides. “Regardless of Mister Graymark’s rather unfortunate choice of words, I would implore everyone present to exercise some restraint. We did not gather here this morning to begin a fight. If anything, the entire point of this meeting was to ensure that one never becomes necessary.”

His attention settled upon Genji. “Would you agree, Mister Shimada?”

Genji drew in a measured breath and slowly released it before removing his hand from the hilt of his blade. “Unfortunately, I would,” he replied. “Whatever our allegiances may be, we remain members of the same institution, and open conflict between us would serve none of our interests. More importantly, the students beneath us depend upon both sides in ways that extend far beyond personal rivalries.”

His gaze moved between the Visionaries and the Prefects. “If we allow pride to turn disagreement into violence, they will be the ones who ultimately suffer for it.”

“Precisely.” Michael turned toward Lucian. “And I am certain you share that sentiment as well.”

Lucian remained rigid for another moment before loosening his grip on the rapier. “Quite.”

The tension began to ease by degrees. One wand after another slid back into its holster, followed by the muted scrape of steel returning to leather and wood as blades disappeared into their scabbards. Artoria was among the last to relent, holding Lucian’s gaze as she slowly sheathed her sword before finally allowing her hand to fall away from the pommel.

Michael clapped his hands together lightly once everyone had stepped back from the brink. “Good. In that case, perhaps we can all agree that this meeting has rather spectacularly failed in its most basic purpose, but there is hardly any shame in admitting that.” A faint smile crossed his face as he glanced toward Arthur and Artoria. “Camelot was not built in a day, after all.”

The twins answered the remark with identical glares, which only seemed to amuse him further.

“I suggest we revisit this discussion once everyone has had an opportunity to cool their heads and perhaps reconsider which battles are genuinely worth fighting,” Michael continued. “Words spoken in anger tend to reveal a great deal, certainly, but they are rarely the best foundation upon which to build a negotiation.”

His gaze moved first toward Lucian and then toward Artoria. “As I mentioned earlier, Mister Graymark chose his words poorly, and I will not pretend otherwise. At the same time, my dear Artoria, neither can I overlook the fact that you were hardly reaching for the language of diplomacy yourself.”

He withdrew his hands from his pockets and clasped them behind his back. “Strip away the pride, the insults, and the rather juvenile need everyone seems to have to provoke the person sitting opposite them, and I suspect you will find that there is at least one thing upon which every person in this room agrees. We want what is best for Excalibur.”

Michael’s expression lost some of its amusement as he looked along both sides of the table. “This Academy and this city have only just survived one of the darkest chapters in their history, and I cannot imagine any of us truly wishes to drag them into another merely because we were too stubborn to sit across a table without reaching for our swords.”

His eyes settled upon the Visionaries. “So, I ask each of you to give cooperation a genuine chance. We need not pretend to be friends, because frankly, I suspect that would be asking rather too much of everyone this morning, but perhaps we can begin by no longer treating one another as enemies.”

He inclined his head slightly, leaving the question with them.

“Allies, then, if nothing more for the moment. What say you?”

Arthur let out a long sigh and gave a resigned shrug before glancing toward the rest of the Visionaries. “I suppose, if we must.” He swept one hand lightly across the table. “All in agreement, say aye.”

“Aye,” came the response from nearly everyone at once.

Artoria remained silent for a moment longer, her glare fixed squarely on Lucian before she finally relented. “Aye.”

Michael glanced toward his fellow Prefects, and they answered in much the same fashion, their agreement coming almost simultaneously. “Then it is settled,” he said, offering a small nod.

“One final matter before we depart.” Artoria raised a finger, drawing the room’s attention back to her. “You have grown remarkably bold, Graymark, though I suspect your courage is every bit as false as the authority you believe yourself to possess.”

Her gaze moved across the Prefects before settling on Lucian again. “Whether you understand it or not, your Committee now functions as a Clan in all but name, with you standing at its head. By the Old Rules and the Old Ways, that means you have effectively declared war upon the Congregation, the High Table, and everything we represent.”

The firelight flickered across her sapphire eyes as a thin smile slowly appeared on her face. “It has been centuries since anyone was foolish enough to attempt such a thing.” She tilted her head slightly. “Then again, Gabriel has always maintained that you were something of a fool. I used to dismiss it as nothing more than sibling banter, but after this morning, I find myself increasingly inclined to agree with him.”

Lucian’s face tightened as his attention snapped toward Gabriel, only to find his older brother wearing the faintest smirk.

“So, allow me to make this perfectly clear, because I will say it once and only once,” Artoria continued. “The High Table will stay its hand so long as the Committee remembers its place. Toe the line, keep to your own affairs, and allow our business to continue as it always has, and there will be no need for either side to concern itself with the other.”

Her expression darkened as she looked across the Prefects. “But the moment you overstep, the moment you convince yourselves that you stand above our rules, then civility ends there. So does tolerance, and so does any pretense of peace. If war is what you seek, if war is truly what you desire, then by the Gods, war is exactly what you shall have.”

She straightened slightly. “I have no doubt that some part of you still believes this is merely a dispute between students, that we remain safely confined within the boundaries of a school and all the protections that come with it. Perhaps you believe the professors, or even Headmaster Blaise himself, would step in before matters ever went too far.” Artoria slowly shook her head. “If that is what you believe, then you are an even greater fool than I gave you credit for.”

Lucian pushed his glasses higher along the bridge of his nose. “And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?”

Artoria’s expression hardened further, and around her, the other Visionaries seemed to follow suit, though Genji remained more restrained than the rest. “I suppose you will find out eventually, won’t you?” she said. “I only hope that when that day comes, you are able to live with whatever your pride has wrought.”

She stepped around her chair and gave Lucian, then the rest of the Prefects, one final look. “Be seeing you lot.”

With that, Artoria turned and headed for the door. Arthur followed with a casual salute, while Genji offered a short bow before falling into step behind them. Corvus lingered only long enough to leave the Prefects with one last thin, knowing smile, and then the Visionaries began filing out of the room and into the corridor beyond. Gabriel pushed himself off the wall, walking past the table as he kept his eyes on Lucian with every step. The younger brother’s gaze narrowed with a look venomous enough to kill before Gabriel too exited the room.

****

Tricia lifted one finger and pointed uncertainly toward the door, her amber eyes still fixed on the place where the Visionaries had disappeared. “Did… did she just threaten us?”

“Quite,” Lochlan replied with an irritated sigh as he settled back into his chair. “And I would wager she meant every bloody word of it.”

Tricia gave a nervous little laugh before turning toward the others. “You don’t actually think they’d go to war with us, do you?” Her smile faltered when no one immediately answered. “I mean… they wouldn’t, right?”

“Warriors do not issue challenges in jest, Tricia,” Trevor said, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the closed door. “Especially not a Pendragon. They’ve drawn their line, and if we keep pushing past it, then I’m afraid they’ll be every bit as good as their word.”

“Pay it no mind,” Lucian said dismissively, though the tension in his expression suggested Artoria’s warning had gotten under his skin more than he cared to admit. “It was posturing, nothing more. The sort of bluster one expects from people who suddenly find themselves cornered.”

He adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “They are behaving like schoolyard bullies who have grown accustomed to everyone fearing them, so naturally, the moment someone finally refuses to step aside, they bare their teeth and make as much noise as possible in the hope that everyone falls back into line.” His mouth tightened. “They would never actually follow through, not when doing so could jeopardize everything they have here.”

“I beg your pardon, Graymark, but I am afraid I have to disagree with you.”

Every gaze shifted toward Michael, who had remained standing beside the table with his hands resting loosely behind his back.

“If this were any other institution, I might understand your reasoning,” he continued, his tone calm but noticeably more serious than before. “Unfortunately, the Congregation has far too much history within these walls for us to dismiss it as little more than students playing at secret societies.”

He regarded Lucian for a moment before gesturing lightly with one hand. “You are still looking at this conflict through the lens of someone who believes all of it is make-believe, a childish fantasy that will collapse the moment the Academy applies enough pressure. It is not.”

Michael’s expression hardened slightly as he glanced toward the door through which the Visionaries had departed. “The Congregation is real, Graymark, as are the people behind it, the influence they command, and the consequences that follow when someone decides to cross them. Artoria was not exaggerating when she warned you, and I am beginning to think you are not taking that threat nearly as seriously as you should.”

“And you,” Lucian replied, snapping his attention toward Michael, “are giving it far more credence than it deserves. Was I not clear the first time?” His expression remained firm as he adjusted his glasses. “The more attention we afford them, the more we validate their existence, and I refuse to indulge that. The Congregation is, and always will be, a fabrication in every meaningful sense of the word.”

“I have said it before, and I will continue saying it until everyone in this school finally understands it for what it is, children playing elaborate little games and convincing themselves that titles, rituals, and secret gatherings somehow make them powerful.” His gaze swept across the others. “Strip away Excalibur, strip away Avalon and all the mythology they have built around themselves, and what remains? Nothing. They are nothing.”

Lochlan slipped one hand into his pocket and regarded Lucian with a faint frown. “A remarkably simplistic assessment, Mister Graymark, if I may be so bold. Or have the events of the Siege already slipped your mind?” The room turned toward him as he continued. “Because I would hardly describe the force that stood against the full might of Lamar Burgess and Norsefire, and ultimately helped drive them from this Academy, as a collection of children playing make-believe.”

“I have to agree,” Trevor said, leaning forward slightly. “You may not want to legitimize the Congregation or play into the image they have of themselves, but Artoria was right about one thing. Whether we intended it or not, the Committee now functions like a Clan, and our presence threatens a balance that has existed here for nearly a thousand years.”

His expression tightened. “Our authority may be legitimate, and our intentions may be justified, but that does not make the people whose position we are threatening any less dangerous.”

“And let’s be honest,” Tricia added, glancing uneasily around the table. “The students aren’t exactly lining up behind us either. You don’t have to be a genius to know we’re nowhere near the top of anyone’s Yuletide gift list.” Her mouth pulled into a frown as she sank a little deeper into her chair. “Gods, now I’m just depressing myself.”

Michael stepped closer to Lucian and rested a hand against his shoulder. “I know where you are coming from, and more importantly, I understand why. But sometimes we have to step back and look at the world as it is rather than as we would prefer it to be.”

He gestured toward the room around them. “Excalibur is not merely a school. It has not been merely a school for a very long time. There are institutions, loyalties, and structures beneath these walls that run far deeper than any regulation we can write or any badge we can pin to our chests, and good intentions alone will not carry us through a conflict with them, no matter how righteous we believe our cause to be.”

Concern settled across Michael’s features as he squeezed Lucian’s shoulder once before letting his hand fall away. “A good commander knows when to put his personal feelings aside for the sake of his people and the position he has been entrusted to hold, so I am telling you this now as plainly as I can.”

His gaze lifted toward the other Prefects before returning to Lucian. “Even with the professors behind us, even with Headmaster Blaise himself standing at our side, none of us are prepared to weather the full might of the Congregation if this truly becomes a war.”

Lucian remained silent for several moments before smoothing the front of his robes and looking around the table. “Your concerns are noted. All of them.” His gaze eventually returned to Michael, though there was no sign that his position had softened. “That being said, I have already made my stance perfectly clear. I do not fear the Congregation, nor do I intend to be cowed by whatever threats they choose to level against us. If matters truly come to a head, then the Visionaries stand to lose far more than we do, and even the full might of this so-called High Table cannot hope to withstand the strength of the Flame of the West.”

He gestured between the remaining Prefects. “Headmaster Blaise gave me, and by extension all of us, a single mandate. Dismantle the High Table, eradicate the Congregation, and drive its influence not only from these halls, but from Avalon itself. That is what we were entrusted to do, and that is precisely what we will do.”

His expression darkened as he pushed his chair back and rose. “Neither the royal twins of Camelot nor anyone else sitting at that Table will stand in our way without eventually bringing the full weight of the faculty down upon themselves. If they choose to force the issue, then they will answer for it.” Lucian turned toward the door, “That is my promise, and every one of you would do well to remember it.”

He pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor without another word, leaving the rest of the Committee behind in the uneasy silence that followed. Michael waited until the door closed before pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing a long, weary sigh.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have a growing suspicion that Graymark is going to march every last one of us straight into a battle none of us can win,” Lochlan said, his jaw tightening as he stared toward the door. “And the worst part is that he probably will not realise it until his own head is resting at his ankles.”

Trevor gave a grim nod, keeping his arms folded across his chest.

Tricia shifted uneasily in her chair and looked toward Michael. “So, what are we supposed to do?”

“You leave him to me,” Michael replied, lowering his hand from his face as his expression settled into something more thoughtful. “Even the lawful and the righteous cannot remain blinded by their ideals forever, no matter how desperately they cling to them.” He gave a small shrug, though the concern in his eyes never left. “I only hope he comes to his senses before the cost of that lesson becomes more than any of us can afford to bear.”