If you’re reading this, then the worst has come to pass. I’ve always tried not to put too much stake in fate. I had hoped things might work out differently, and yet if you’re here, it seems my efforts to shift the tide were unsuccessful, making this moment inevitable. My only regret was not having the chance to see you one last time, to tell you how much you’ve come to mean to me. There are so many things I wish I could have explained. Letting you go hasn’t been easy. I can only hope, in the end, it was the right thing to do.

Do not mourn Gaia or me. Remember, we are only matter in a closed system, incapable of being created or destroyed. We are simply changed, from one form to another. Believe me when I tell you I am still here, in every lesson and every conversation we’ve ever shared. Hold fast to those talks, as I have while I sit before the empty chair you occupied on so many occasions, your energy so very much alive in this room as I write this final farewell to you.

Not long ago, I made you an oath. I swore I would protect you. That I would keep you safe should you ever feel a need to return here and find yourself. I’ve done all I can to honor that promise.

A piece of each of us lives on here in the Observatory, Jack.

Go back to your beginnings for the answers you seek. Find those missing pieces. Breathe deeply and remember the lion that you are, but be mindful: broken teeth can be sharper than we realize. Take care not to harm those closest to you.

With gratitude for all you’ve given me and hope for all I’ve seen in you,

Professor Daniel Lyon

“Jack, the Guards could patrol this hall any minute. We have to go.” Kai peers through a crack in the door, bouncing on her heels, but I can’t stop staring at Lyon’s note.

The note. The travel vouchers. The request he made of Kai . . .

Lyon knew. He knew this exact moment might happen. Had known long enough that he had tried to change it, all the while making contingency plans in case he failed. He knew that I would come here. That I would sit in this very chair, ankle deep in broken glass, mourning his loss, searching for Fleur while Doug ransacks the Observatory, taking lives and stealing souls, probably wearing my smaze like a goddamn trophy.

Lyon knew, and he planned, and he never told me.

I read the note again, my brow crumpling over his words.

Breathe deeply, he tells me, and remember the lion that you are. But I’ve never felt more powerless than I do right now.