too?”
Oman inclines his head and lets his expression go serious. “Unfortunately, yes. She’s the first dying Watcher I’ve ever witnessed. I guess it’s for the best, really—means I won’t ever see one again. At least, not in my lifetime. My mentor says the chance is astronomical.”
“I guess you’re right.” I lower myself to the floor, coming to a sitting position in front of the basin. “Still, it’s sad.”
“Don’t think of it that way,” Oman says. “Dena chose the life of a Watcher, and she knew one day that meant she’d die with her universe. It’s not sad—just final.”
A grin twitches at the corner of my lips. “That’s a good way to put it.”
Oman pats my shoulder once before going over to his own basin and taking a seat. He’s about to drop his orb into the bowl when a sudden urge overtakes me and words spill from my mouth.
“Have you ever seen anything weird in your universe? Something that didn’t seem to belong?”
Oman furrows his brow. “Like what?”
I shrug. “Something dark and cloaked. Something that can turn to smoke, like us.”
“Not that I remember. But I promise to look around next time I visit.”
I frown, disappointed, and turn back to my basin. I hear the rustling of Oman’s pocket behind me, the sound of his fingers brushing against glass, and when I look over my shoulder again he is gone. His orb floats in the clear bowl, the universe inside projecting onto his half of the room, swirling and sparkling with the same intensity as mine does.
I drop my own orb into the basin before me and I become smoke, flying through the stars until I fall down, down toward the little blue planet called Earth.
When I land on the beach, Noah isn’t there. The sand is damp beneath my feet and night cloaks the sky. Gentle waves lap at the shoreline, creating a soothing sound that calms the anxiousness left over from Dena’s funeral. I stay there for a while, just staring out at the lake, but Noah never comes to visit. I don’t blame him. Last time I spoke to him, I’d been quite harsh, even though he was just trying to understand the world I’d brought down from the stars with me.
I trudge into the grass and walk on until I hit the road, where a neighborhood stretches out before me. Rows of quaint houses line either side of the street, lights shining through the windows while families lounge inside. I walk past driveways and mailboxes, parked cars and manicured lawns, following the curve of the road and enjoying the crickets chirping in the distance.
I come to a yellow cottage with white shuttered windows and a light blue door. The panes of glass open a portal to a scene inside where a family of four sits around a dinner table. The parents fuss over their smallest child—Lizzie—who refuses to eat with anything but a spoon. Noah sits next to her, an amused expression on his face as he waits patiently for the chaos to end.
Something akin to guilt clenches my stomach. I feel like I’m spying on an intimate moment, a piece of time I shouldn’t see, and it’s unfair for me to watch without Noah knowing I’m there. I convince myself that this is what Watchers are here for in the first place and tiptoe through a bed of bushes so I can get a better view of things.
I can barely hear their muffled voices through the window, and I strain my ears to listen. Lizzie leans away from the table, her chair tilting back as she smiles, giggles, and dodges her mother’s hands.
“I’m an alien!” Lizzie shouts. “I don’t eat with
Oman inclines his head and lets his expression go serious. “Unfortunately, yes. She’s the first dying Watcher I’ve ever witnessed. I guess it’s for the best, really—means I won’t ever see one again. At least, not in my lifetime. My mentor says the chance is astronomical.”
“I guess you’re right.” I lower myself to the floor, coming to a sitting position in front of the basin. “Still, it’s sad.”
“Don’t think of it that way,” Oman says. “Dena chose the life of a Watcher, and she knew one day that meant she’d die with her universe. It’s not sad—just final.”
A grin twitches at the corner of my lips. “That’s a good way to put it.”
Oman pats my shoulder once before going over to his own basin and taking a seat. He’s about to drop his orb into the bowl when a sudden urge overtakes me and words spill from my mouth.
“Have you ever seen anything weird in your universe? Something that didn’t seem to belong?”
Oman furrows his brow. “Like what?”
I shrug. “Something dark and cloaked. Something that can turn to smoke, like us.”
“Not that I remember. But I promise to look around next time I visit.”
I frown, disappointed, and turn back to my basin. I hear the rustling of Oman’s pocket behind me, the sound of his fingers brushing against glass, and when I look over my shoulder again he is gone. His orb floats in the clear bowl, the universe inside projecting onto his half of the room, swirling and sparkling with the same intensity as mine does.
I drop my own orb into the basin before me and I become smoke, flying through the stars until I fall down, down toward the little blue planet called Earth.
When I land on the beach, Noah isn’t there. The sand is damp beneath my feet and night cloaks the sky. Gentle waves lap at the shoreline, creating a soothing sound that calms the anxiousness left over from Dena’s funeral. I stay there for a while, just staring out at the lake, but Noah never comes to visit. I don’t blame him. Last time I spoke to him, I’d been quite harsh, even though he was just trying to understand the world I’d brought down from the stars with me.
I trudge into the grass and walk on until I hit the road, where a neighborhood stretches out before me. Rows of quaint houses line either side of the street, lights shining through the windows while families lounge inside. I walk past driveways and mailboxes, parked cars and manicured lawns, following the curve of the road and enjoying the crickets chirping in the distance.
I come to a yellow cottage with white shuttered windows and a light blue door. The panes of glass open a portal to a scene inside where a family of four sits around a dinner table. The parents fuss over their smallest child—Lizzie—who refuses to eat with anything but a spoon. Noah sits next to her, an amused expression on his face as he waits patiently for the chaos to end.
Something akin to guilt clenches my stomach. I feel like I’m spying on an intimate moment, a piece of time I shouldn’t see, and it’s unfair for me to watch without Noah knowing I’m there. I convince myself that this is what Watchers are here for in the first place and tiptoe through a bed of bushes so I can get a better view of things.
I can barely hear their muffled voices through the window, and I strain my ears to listen. Lizzie leans away from the table, her chair tilting back as she smiles, giggles, and dodges her mother’s hands.
“I’m an alien!” Lizzie shouts. “I don’t eat with
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