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“A grand gesture.”

“It’s not a gesture. It’s attention. Sustained, specific attention. That is rare.”

I paused.

I wasn’t prepared for Silas to be the one championing love. If anything, it was just making this so much harder. If he would just reinforce his beliefs that love was fake instead of softening his stance on it, I could cling to that. And to the belief that his stance would make it much easier for my confession coming later.

“It’s rare,” I agreed. “But is it love?”

“What would you call it?”

“I’d call it promising. I’d call it something that makes you want to believe. But is it love? Love is more than just remembering. It’s choosing. Repeatedly. Every day.”

“He chose. That’s what the tickets were—a choice.”

“One choice.”

“One would imagine that every relationship is a series of individual choices that may, from the outside, look like a single thing. But he has been making a choice, apparently, for months. Silently. Without fanfare. Without,” he paused, “without requiring any acknowledgment for it.”

The audience was silent.

I was silent.

“Silas,” I said.

“Mm?”

“You’re arguing for love.”

“I’m arguing for evidence,” Silas declared. “And the evidence points in one direction.”

I paused, watching the feed. Looking at him. Sitting in the chair in that very still, very composed way.

But there was something in his gaze that looked unraveled, unsure.

“Careful, that was almost romantic.”

“It was an evidence-based assessment.”

“About love.”

“About behavior.”

“Silas.”

“Madison.”

There was a beat. The audience laughed softly, recognizing the familiar rhythm of our conversations.

“So, you both agree that it’s love,” the warlock concluded.

“I think it could be love,” I said, catching myself watching Silas’s face as I spoke. “But I also think that if she is someone who needs to hear the words, he is going to need to find a way to say them.”

“Okay. That’s one question answered. Let’s go on to another one, shall we?”

“Of course,” Silas said.

“Sure.”