“Listen,” Dr. Wall said, voice firm. “Anyone in your circumstance would want a magic bullet cure to what ails them. When people aren’t coping or are finding their way to coping, they construct fantasies. In yours, if this is a fantasy, you get your brother back, you have a resolution to a memory that would haunt anyone, and you can punish yourself for a situation what your unconscious is telling you is your fault.”

Tristan stared down at his hands.

“I can’t imagine anything more tragic than getting your parent’s hopes up, getting your own hopes up, bringing controversy to the team and your teammates, and potentially letting word get out that would give Paris an escape clause in his court proceedings for your brother’s murder… only for nothing to come of it, a trick your grief has played on your brain.”

Tristan shook his head. “Except I could let him out now.”

A noise made Tristan’s head turn. He was jumpy.

“Could you?” Dr. Wall asked.

“What?”

“Could you let him out right now?”

Could he? He’d shied away from that part of his power for so long he worried it had atrophied. It was hard to even think about it with all of the compounded dread, each day worse than the last. To think about doing it without the protection of a pre-existing deal, a promise from powerful people?

“Guess not,” Dr. Wall said.

Tristan shook his head. “I can, but I need precautions first. I screwed this up so fucking badly. I got rid of him, but he takes up more of my day, my thoughts and my routines now than when I gave him half of my time!”

“Sit down, Tristan,” the therapist said.

He’d stood up, and he didn’t realize it. He stood on the spot, the mechanical instructions for sitting himself down momentarily blank and blacked out.

He didn’t sit.

“If what you said were true, there isn’t a binding contract we could devise that would supercede the criminal charges. We can’t give you a magic contract that would protect you. You would likely see some form of punishment, including removal from the team. The team would no doubt be devastated. We both know Byron threatened to go to the media in the past, when he was concerned with your behavior. He would do it in the future.”

Tristan shook his head, eyes on the floor.

“Yes?”

Tristan stopped shaking his head.

“He would.”

“Maybe.”

“We know he would, it’s a pattern we’ve seen before.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a lot we need to talk about, and a lot of work we need to do, but we can get you to a better place, where this is well behind you.”

Deeply uncomfortable, Tristan started to turn away. “I’m gonna—”

“I think you should stay.”

“I’m going to go,” Tristan said.