Chapter 38: Peace

The testing kit flashed green.

The nurses’ shoulders dropped, and they smiled to each other.

Milo was wiping sweat off his temples when Layla put a hand on his shoulder; a little farther over, and her palm would have landed on the chain.

"Come on, Milo. You can argue with them when they’re better."

Instead of answering, he looked down at his own boots. The blessing of Still Step was active, and if the corridor had been only a little quieter, he’d have been marched straight back into the interrogation. Brother Ansel’s Soles were part of the ruined collection.

For now, Layla could mistake his silence for resentment.

Before he got to answer, the other students’ voices seized his attention.

"There will be cake?"

"First come, first served!" 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

"No way!"

Students were squeezing past Milo toward the dining hall, where the smell of hot oil drifted out above the queue.

"Come on." This time Layla took his sleeve. "Let’s find a table before they’re all taken."

He followed her to the entrance. The cooks were preparing fresh meals for the whole school, although it was the promised cheesecake that had drawn most of the crowd. An academy so concerned with its pupils’ health rarely put that on the menu.

With the first meals still cooking, Milo had time to watch the crowd collect. Going from classroom to classroom would have attracted questions, but if he waited here a few more minutes, the students would come to him on their own.

As the last of the crowd came in, he began reciting his intention.

Off... Off... For everyone here, in this room: off. Including the cooks and maids.

"Do we line up?" Layla watched him focus on nothing. "You must be hungry."

"Yes."

"We could sit over there, by the wall. It’s a bit quieter."

"Just a moment."

Throughout, his guard stayed up and his eyes on every face around him, Layla’s most of all. He was not destined to get lucky forever.

Beside the three beds, the dial had gone green. Here he could only repeat the command and wait for the sheet to tell him whether he’d done enough.

Off...

"You said you felt fine on the way home." Layla moved closer to let a group pass, her voice low. "After Henry left us."

That was the ride when she’d mentioned the lacquer, and he had been quite happy to leave the conversation there.

The sheet didn’t appear. Maybe it had gotten offended, or something. Milo looked toward the doors. Thwaite might be alone while everyone queued for food, and this was probably the best mood he would find him in.

"I am fine. I need to catch Mr. Thwaite before he wanders off somewhere."

"Will you sit down for a minute?"

"Save me a spot," he said, already heading out of the hall.

Layla’s hand had come too close to the chain for him to spend another night carrying it under his sweater.

Before returning to the office, he slipped into the damaged bathroom, ducking beneath the sagging tape marked Out of Service.

The janitor had cleaned up what there was to clean up, which was mostly the paper towel dispenser and the door. Nothing concerned the vent, and the renovation would likely be set for after the students had gone home...

He stuffed it in deep, the duct dimpling under the spiked head on its way. A person would have to climb all the way in to find it.

The next stretch of corridor brought him to the office, and with no chain’s clinks to conceal, he covered it much faster than he’d been used to lately.

Following three quick knocks, he cracked the door open.

Mr. Thwaite nodded. Milo stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

The man stood, palms flat on his desk.

"What can I do for you, Milo?"

The relief should do most of the job. All he needed to supply was value.

"Sir, I lost the recommendation you gave me. I think I left it back in the isolation room."

"Grace found it."

Such a document, left behind by the most prominent suspect, must have read like a personal note.

Yet the principal had not returned it. Did he have doubts? Did he think Milo was, after all, the ghost?

"So about that... I wanted to apologize for my behavior. How scared I was, here, it made me realize—"

"Do you know why I like that painting?" Mr. Thwaite pointed at the meadow hanging on the wall. "Why I look at it so much."

Milo stared at him, stunned by the interruption.

"Heh. Probably you have not even noticed. You don’t know me."

Believe me, I have...

"I’ve been principal here for eight years, and I have two left in my second term. On days like these, when everyone needs a decision from me, I look at that meadow and try to remember what I wanted this academy to be." He pointed at the painting harder for emphasis. "This? This reminds me of peace. Peace, even when things heat up."

This was not Milo’s idea of convincing a principal to re-enroll him.

If the painting had anything to do with his expulsion, he couldn’t yet see how, but interrupting a man who was trying to be kind seemed an unnecessary risk.

"Anyway..." Mr. Thwaite rubbed the stubble at his chin, shaking his head along with it, as though Milo was bound to not understand. "I’ve watched you struggle since you enrolled, Milo, and I don’t think I’ve made it much easier for you to be here. You should have had some peace in this place. I am sorry we have come to this before I thought to ask how much of it I had given you."

"Sir, what you’re saying... does that mean there’s maybe a chance, a possibility..."

"There’s an end to this week where we don’t part ways." He looked Milo in the eye and raised a finger. "One chance, provided you accept the conditions. You must submit to the consultations, regularly. You must attend lessons, regularly. If you agree to that, I will withdraw the expulsion."

Milo nodded at every term ending in regularly, and was still nodding when the speech came to its one final declaration.

"I will see to it that all students, especially you, know of peace and are able to provide it to the future generations."

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "Ventilation Grille (Part 1)" ... ⤵︎ [!]