Page 136 of Legacy Ascended

"Yes."

"From seeing it once?"

"I spent hours with that registry." His jaw moves. "But it proves nothing. It's a surname from two hundred and seventy-five years ago."

"But."

"But it's a hell of a coincidence," Jon says. "I haven't seen that name anywhere else."

I put the phone back to my ear.

"Chancellor. Twenty minutes."

"Miss Miller—"

"Twenty minutes," I say. "Put her somewhere warm and give her something to eat, please."

I text the four of them on the path.

Someone's come to the academy asking for me about the House. She's brought documents. I'm going up to admin with Jon. I'm completely fine.

Luke, before we reach the greenhouse: Do you want me there?

Jessica: Not yet.

Luke: Say the word and I'm in the building in minutes.

Torres: Who is she?

Jessica: I don't know.

Torres: That's a terrible answer.

Jessica: It's the one I've got.

Torres: Text me when you do. I'll be awake. I'm not pacing.

Then, seconds later: Ok, I'm pacing.

Soren sends one line. If there is a legal question tonight, don't answer it. Say you'll answer it in writing.

Ander doesn't text anything. The bond just goes tight and stays there the whole walk, the way a hand closes around something.

The meeting room on the second floor is the small one, with the oval table. The window behind it has gone black and holds the reflection of the room.

Falken stands when we come in and looks at Jon for a quarter of a second longer than he needs to, which is Falken noticing that a professor has arrived at nine forty at night in a coat over a sweater and not his usual hair style.

The woman is on the far side of the table, and she gets up too.

She's about my age. That rearranges something I hadn't known I'd assumed.

Her coat is creased from a long day of sitting down in it. There's a canvas bag on the chair beside her, and a plate with a sandwich on it that she's eaten half of, and a cup of tea she's holding in both hands.

She watches me come in. Only me. Jon walks in behind me and Falken is standing at the head of the table and her eyes don't move off my face once, steady the whole way across the carpet, like somebody checking a photograph against the original.

She doesn't bow. She doesn't do the little dip of the head people have started doing at me.

"I'm Jessica," I say. "You wanted to see me."