The box was too big for the fiberglass cubby, so Stell had to feed the papers through, a handful at a time. “What are you thinking?” Stell asked as Eli set the ream of paper on the table.

The dots floated in his mind, shifting as he tried to find the lines between them. “There’s a pattern here,” said Eli. “I haven’t found it yet, but I will.”

XXII

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

XXIII

LOCKLAND UNIVERSITY

“TO see a world in a grain of sand . . .”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, the clouds flushing blue. It was the start of senior year, and after unpacking, they’d gone up on the roof to watch the storm roll in.

“. . . and Heaven in a wildflower,” continued Eli.

He lifted his palm until it seemed to rest just beneath the lightning.

“Hold infinity in the palm of your hand . . .”

“Honestly, Eli,” said Victor, perching on one of the folding chairs that scattered the makeshift patio, “spare me the scripture.”

Eli’s hand fell away. “It’s not the Bible,” he said testily. “It’s Blake.

Get some culture.” He swept the bottle of scotch away from Victor.

“And the point holds. There is no harm in seeing a creator behind the creation.”

“There is when you purport to study science.”

Eli shook his head. Victor didn’t understand—would never understand—that it wasn’t a matter of faith or science. The two were inextricable.

Eli took a cautious sip from the stolen bottle and sank into a second chair as the storm crept closer. It was their first night back, the first night in their new shared apartment. Victor had spent his summer avoiding his parents on some remote family vacation while getting a head start on organic chemistry. Eli had spent his at Lockland, interning under Professor Lyne. He cut a sideways glance at his friend, who was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, his attention seemingly transfixed on the distant lightning.

Initially, Victor had presented a dilemma. Eli Cardale’s persona, so carefully constructed over the last decade, found little audience with his sober new roommate. There was no need for a steady smile, affability, the practiced ease. There was no point to them, not when Victor seemed so utterly disinterested. No, disinterested was the wrong word—Victor’s attention was constant, acute—but the more charming Eli tried to be, the less Victor responded to it. In fact, he seemed annoyed by the effort.

As if Victor knew it was just that. An effort. A show. Eli found himself culling the unnecessary trappings, trimming his persona down to the essentials.

And when he did that, Victor warmed.

Turned toward Eli like a face toward a mirror. Like to like. It frightened and thrilled Eli, to be seen, and to see himself reflected. Not all of himself—they were still so different—but there was something vital, a core of the same precious metal glinting through the rock.