Sloane Lindquist's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

By morning, Sloane's throat burned and her sheets stuck to her skin. She lay curled around the crested handkerchief, fingers tight on the soft cloth. Rain still tapped the window. Three library days slipped past her like coins down a drain, and she pictured the framed calendar in the hall, each crisp date block marking a day Micah sat at the back table alone. At school, Micah noticed the empty chair. He said nothing. A loud girl from the popular table sighed, "Poor Sloane. Fever, I heard. Kind of sad." Micah closed his ledger a beat too hard. That evening, he sent a servant with a small package of medicine and broth, signed only, "From the student council. Get well." The package arrived with a creased, coffee-stained note tucked beneath the bottle. Sloane read it twice. She pressed the worn paper to her chest beside the handkerchief and finally slept. When her fever broke, she made a plan. She would not waste a single recovered hour. Meanwhile, Micah retreated to the tall stone tower where he kept his rooms. He worked late by the window. He told himself the quiet was better. He underlined the same line three times and did not turn the page. Four days later, Sloane walked back into the library. Pale, steady, the folded note in her pocket. Micah looked up, then down. "You're behind," he said flatly, and slid a stack of papers across the table. He did not move his chair away. Sloane sat, hid her smile, and knew she had not lost the ground she feared.