There is no name for what I am. That should make me feel better. It doesn’t. The Council has theories, old records, mathematical models and one fragment from a seventeenth-century observatory in Fez describing a man whose presence caused “the marked to move as one.” They do not know whether he was like me. They do know he died young. Dr Vale leaves that part until last.
“Of course he did.”
Kareem looks irritated with her. I notice. Good. At least somebody in the room understands timing. They explain the celestial system in language I haven’t heard since childhood. Designations create predictable alignments. Guardians respond to threat. Healers to physical disruption. Scholars to information. Bridges to relationships between people, systems and meanings. I do none of those things. Apparently I create temporary pathways between them.
“You’re saying the Healer at my building shared a Guardian response.”
“Yes,” Kareem says.
“And the Scholar knew medicine because she was connected to the Healer.”
“Yes.”
“Because I designed a corridor.”
Dr Vale shakes her head.
“Because you created a space that reflects how your mind already organises relationships.”
I look at the diagram again. The empty centre bothers me most. Every line ends there. At me.
“What happens if I do nothing?”
“We don’t know.”
“What happens if I cooperate?”
“We learn.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only honest one.”
For once, I appreciate Dr Vale. They want a controlled test. Five volunteers. Different designations. A monitored room. Saoirse present as Bridge. I turn to her. She has been quiet through most of the meeting.
“You agreed to this?”
“I agreed to be here.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Her eyes hold mine.
“I haven’t agreed to the test.”
Something inside me loosens. The Council notices. I don’t care.
“I’m not doing anything today.”
Dr Vale starts to speak. Kareem stops her with one hand.
“How long do you need?”
“Three days.”
“Why three?”
“Because it’s what I’m giving you.”
He nods.
“Three days.”
Outside, Lagos heat hits me after the refrigerated meeting room. Saoirse walks beside me to the car park.
“You’re angry.”
“Insightful.”
“At them or at yourself?”
I stop. She keeps walking for another step before turning.
“That sounded better in my head.”
“It did not.”
A smile threatens. I hate that it works. My phone rings. My mother. I stare at her name. Saoirse sees it and steps away without being asked. I answer.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Have they told you?”
I look back at the building.
“Enough to know you and I need to talk.”
She is quiet. Then: “Come home.”