Foundry’s northern terrace held the kind of cold that didn’t move. No wind, no drama—just dry air that settled on the stone like a film. The ground lights threw pale beams upward, bleaching the railing white. Beyond it, the Academy’s main tower stood lit and steady, as if nothing in the world ever truly shifted.
William leaned against the stone, a red Hawaiian shirt blooming absurdly against the night. The fabric looked imported from somewhere that believed in sunlight. He held a canned beer in one hand, condensation slicking the aluminum. No coat. He looked like a man who’d been dragged off a plane and hadn’t bothered to adjust.
“Apologies for the delay,” he said to the empty dark, lifting the can as though some invisible camera hovered over the campus. “Signal’s been cranky since I accidentally surfed with my phone this morning. Okinawa beaches do that to you.”
He took a drink, grimaced.
“Seriously though, New Elysion needs to start importing Japanese beer. These IPAs are a scam. Tastes like someone steeped a pine tree and called it character.”
A figure stepped out of the shadow behind him and stopped a few paces away.
“Don’t tell me Foundry’s off-limits now,” William added without turning. “I’m an alumnus, for God’s sake.”
The boy didn’t smile.
“How was the field trip, Vice President Grasse?” His voice was even. “I heard you were in Japan for Effigies research. Dr. Yamada just lectured on new Drakespawn mutations this week. I assume you were handling the practical portion.”
“Nothing impressive.” William rolled the can in his hand. “Another one logged. Same as always.” He paused, as if genuinely considering it. “A few strains were… interesting. Unstable morphology. Quick learners.”
“You’ve always had patience for what you find interesting.”
“Who told you that?” William huffed a quiet laugh. “These days I only have patience for dinner and beautiful women.”
The boy stepped up beside him. They both looked out at the tower lights.
“Relic retrieval went smoothly?”
“Smooth enough.” William shrugged. “Lockhart’s people were jumpy. Every time, they act like they’re diffusing a bomb.”
“Perhaps they are.”
“Then I’d appreciate not standing this close.” He drank again. “I’m retired, remember.”
A beat. William turned then, leaning back against the railing to face him. “Your generation loves patterns,” he said. “Sometimes someone just hits the wrong switch.”
The boy didn’t argue.
“Foundry. Border Defense. Even the old war,” he said mildly. “Those were decisions your generation made. You weren’t the type to blame switches.”
William smiled. “Sounds almost flattering.”
“I’m just curious,” the boy said. “If it were you then, how would you handle this?”
“Then?” William lifted the can slightly. “I’d finish my beer.”
“And after that?”
“After that I’d grow old enough to wake up three times a night and hope the woman I’m holding doesn’t start resenting me.” His tone was dry, unhurried. “Changing the world is a privilege of the young.”
The boy didn’t laugh.
William’s expression shifted faintly, as if remembering something. “By the way,” he said, almost casually, “a few very old acquaintances of mine had a rough time. One of them nearly had a heart attack. Called my personal phone. Asked if another war was starting.”
The boy’s gaze didn’t flicker. “And what did you tell them?”
“Told him to sleep more. Read less.” William rested the can against the stone and listened to the thin metallic knock. “War’s a big word. People use it when they’re bored.”
“Is that what you told yourself, back then?”
William looked at him for a long moment before answering. One of the laboratory floors in the distance went dark.
“You lot,” he said at last, “have excellent timing.”
“You’re not staying?” the boy asked. “The interesting part hasn’t even begun.”
“Next time.” William glanced toward the tower again. “They flew me back in a hurry. I’ve got a reservation in Tokyo—two-year waiting list. If I cancel to calm down a handful of half-buried men, I’ll hold a grudge.”
“You could get into any restaurant with a single call.”
William rubbed at the stubble along his jaw. “Sure. But then some young couple loses their table because of a tired old man. Hardly heroic.”
He finished the beer, crushing the can slowly in his hand.
He didn’t add anything else.
He turned and walked toward the stairwell, red shirt catching the light for a moment before the dark swallowed it again.