BENJAMIN'S POVWe sat on the edge of the clinic bed with the sketchbook open between us.Alice turned the pages slow. Lucian had drawn all of it — her asleep at her desk, the pen still in her hand, her head tipped against a stack of papers. Me, off at the far edge of the room in almost every one, small and far away, like he’d had to go hunting for me in the corner of his own memory.The three of us at breakfast, all of us at the one table, even though I could count on one hand the mornings I was ever really there.He’d drawn the mornings I missed like they’d happened anyway.Alice’s breath caught on that page. She didn’t say anything.“He always drew you bigger,” she said quietly, a few pages later. A drawing of the two of us, her small in one corner, me taking up most of the page.“Why.”“You were the one he watched the door for.”I looked at the page. My hand found the edge of it and stopped.She turned another. The training yard — stick figures with swords too big for their hands,
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