Page 72 of Bone Year

And then he laughs. “A human with a raccoon eidolon.” He shakes his head, still chuckling. “The world really has gone to shit.”

“She grows on you.”

“I’m sure she does.” He reaches out one gnarled hand, and Poppy sniffs his fingers then allows him to scratch behind her ears. Her eyes close in contentment. “Unexpected little thing, like her owner.”

We sit in silence. The tension from before has drained out of the room, replaced by something quieter, and it feels almost peaceful.

“You asked what I want,” Cael says finally. “I want someone to look at me and see more than a dying body. I want someone to remember that I used to be someone.” He strokes Poppy’s fur absently. “I want to tell my stories before I go. I want to matter to someone, even if it’s just one person for a little while.”

My throat tightens.

“I can do that,” I say quietly. “I can listen.”

He studies me for a long moment. Whatever he sees makes him nod slowly.

“You’re not like the others.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You mean it. I can tell.” He leans back against his pillows, suddenly looking every one of his three hundred and seventeen years. “Come back tomorrow, human girl. Bring that ridiculous creature, and maybe I’ll tell you about the time I watched the earth split open and hell pour through.”

“I’ll be here.”

I stand, gathering my supplies. Poppy doesn’t move from her spot on his bed. She’s curled up against his side now, eyes half-closed.

“She can stay,” Cael says gruffly. “Been a long time since I had company that didn’t want something from me.”

“She’ll find me when she’s ready.” I head for the door then pause with my hand on the handle. “Cael?”

“What?”

“For what it’s worth, you do matter. The fact you’re still fighting after three hundred years, even if it’s fighting for yourself among the people trying to help you, that matters. Just no more hurting staff members please.”

He doesn’t say anything. But when I glance back before closing the door, his hand is resting on Poppy’s soft fur, and some of the hardness has left his face.

I try to explore the rest of the patient wards before my shift is over and I get a good lay of the land but at some point I take a wrong turn.

The corridor is empty, quieter than the others, no menders rushing past, no patients calling out. I don’t recognize this wing. The doors along the walls are all closed, their handles thick with dust.

I should turn back, but then I hear voices.

Hushed and intense. Coming from somewhere ahead.

I press myself against the wall and edge closer, my heart beating loudly in my ears. The voices are coming from a room at the end of the corridor, the door cracked open enough for me to see movement inside.

I peer around the corner.

Headmaster Ashmoor’s back is to me, but even without seeing his face, I can tell something’s wrong.

And facing him, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight is Draven.

I catch pieces. Not enough to understand.

“—never agreed to that⁠—”

The headmaster murmurs something and sounds almost amused.

“—can’t change the terms⁠—”