The old man shakes his head at Adair, dismayed. “You never would’ve shown compassion, in the past. You were the epitome of a god, my boy. Unswayable.”

“And I was wrong.”

The old man scratches the back of his head, shoulders rounded in a shrug. “You’re putting me in a very bad spot.”

Adair embraces him one last time, their whiskery cheeks brushing. “I put our fate in your hands. I trust you will do the right thing.” After all, what are gods for if not miracles?

* * *

“Is that it?” I ask Adair when he returns to the magically suspended room a few minutes later. “How will we know what he’s decided? When will we know that he’s made his decision?”

He is much calmer than I imagine possible and I want to interpret this as good news. Adair wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me tight to him. “I have to believe that he’s already made his decision, or otherwise—take it from me—things would’ve gone much more badly.”

TWENTY-FOUR