Book 18: You're Wrong

Skye

“It went fine,” I say on a breath, moving toward the back row of the empty observatory. It’s well past midnight, and if anyone is going to be awake in the odd hours of early morning, it’s Posey, whose soft, disbelieving chuckle rings through my ear.

“You sound like you hated it.”

I sink into a familiar chair covered with scratchy, well-worn fabric and prop my laptop on my knees. “I don’t hate lecturing. It just felt odd, I guess. My previous lectures were all at the undergraduate level… physics 101, you know? The definition of matter versus now having to explain to a room full of physicists who lean more toward experimental physics why we’ll never fully understand the physical confines of our own universe.”

“You could always come home. The temple in Moonrise would move mountains to have you within their ranks.