Zeid didn't think he was processing everything correctly.

  Considering the turn of events, he should have felt something.

  The annoyance and guilt and fear had hit him hard, only to seemingly vanish, leaving him with the nothingness he'd started with.

  He knew, kind of, what was going on, but it was like his brain had decided he was asleep and dreaming and so, nothing really sunk in. It was like his mind had felt the sudden rush of terror and decided 'no. I am not doing that'. Nothing really evoked any kind of reaction, and he went through it all with a sense of fogginess and numbness.

  That wasn't anything new — this kind of fog hit him a lot, and he'd been in the thick of it for a while, now. Part of his consciousness wanted to break free, to feel something, anything — and the other part of him was completely absorbed in the fog. He wasn't really thinking of the things that bit of consciousness thought he was supposed to think about. His mother, the place he'd left behind . . . all of that.

  He supposed he should be grateful.

  But he couldn't feel that, either.

  He was walking, right now. Down the hallway, following Ash, Asimi skipping along next to him. Going to the 'evaluation room'. He didn't like the sound of that. He suspected it would involve several personal questions that he didn't really want to answer.

  I guess I'll see when I get there.

  Ash had stopped at the end of the hallway, glancing at the branching paths.

  “Right,” Zeid said.

  He flinched, then turned questioningly.

  “The ‘evaluation room’ is to the right. Down that hall, then to the left,” he elaborated. According to princess what’s-her-face, at least.

  “Ah — thanks.” Ash fidgeted for a moment, then turned abruptly and started down the hallway. He seemed nervous. Really nervous.

  A glint caught Zeid’s eye. The ‘Change Stone’ was set into the back of Ash’s beige-colored jacket, in the center of a strange gold spiral that looked like it was patterned with scales. Milky silver. Moonstone.

  Zeid followed him with his hands in his pockets as they continued down the corridor. The palace was massive — unnecessarily massive, in his opinion. The hallways did not need to be that long and tall. And there were really too many — the sheer number of turns he’d taken to get to the throne room was kind of absurd.

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  “What’s your favorite kind of chocolate?” Asimi prompted, skipping merrily alongside him.

  “Milk,” Zeid answered, trying to recall the last time he’d had chocolate.

  “Oh, you’re one of those,” she concluded, nodding seriously.

  “Are you categorizing me by my chocolate preference?” he asked, glancing down at her.

  “It’s the most important thing about a person,” she declared, dramatically enough that he could guess she was kidding. Maybe. He could see the chocolate bars sticking out of her pockets. He could believe it if she turned out to be a chocolate fanatic.

  “All right,” he said. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

  “Chocolate . . . cake. Chocolate-covered sticks. Chocolate-filled biscuits. Chocolate cookies. Chocolate muffins. Anything chocolate. Chocolate.”

  Okay, so that’s a ‘yes’ to the chocolate obsession. “Oh, you’re one of those,” he echoed. Those customers that only eat one flavor of anything.

  “One of the geniuses? Ahead of my time? Brilliant?”

  “Sure, sure.” That’s certainly a jump from talking about desserts.

  “I know, I’m amazing.”

  She was definitely theatrical. She had a sort of . . . energy he hadn’t seen from anyone in a very long time. Like she genuinely enjoyed what she was doing. Whatever that was.

  “Explosions,” she stated, with zero context. “Thoughts?”

  Ash seemed to tense from in front of them.

  “What kind of explosions?” he asked, still looking at Ash in case there was some sort of reaction.

  “Like, boom.”

  “That’s all explosions.”

  “Yeah, I know that, I didn’t know if you knew that.”

  “Okay, what are you exploding?”

  She thought for a moment. “Sinks.”

  “Sinks?”

  “Sinks.”

  “Whose sinks?”

  She shrugged.

  “Well, I’ve never exploded anything before.”

  “You should try it. So fun.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think —” I don’t think my mom would approve.

  The laughter soured in his lungs and dropped into the pit of his stomach.

  “It’ll be small,” she said, continuing on. “Just — bam! Water in your face.”

  “Heh,” he responded, his mouth dry. “. . . Maybe.”