She had made him uncomfortable; she felt the change in the room. Themis had the social awareness to avert her eyes and give the man a minute to collect himself. Instead, she turned her attention to his hands and the masterful way he worked. She held true magical artists in great esteem, still skeptical of those who used magic as nothing more than a shortcut to hard work. Samuel Griffith was an artist, that much she already saw.

His description of his former mentor felt familiar to her own. Thankfully, Uncle Horace loved her as a daughter and put her growth first. His fanaticism for her work was always tempered by what was best for her. She was aware that her fate was unique, the plight of orphans often ending tragically. Her mentor had also been her only family, her professional and personal success seeming one and the same. What had it been for Samuel, to travel the world and be faced with a master unwilling to adapt? "I am sorry he attempted to stimy your growth. That is most unfortunate."

It took her a moment to consider his offer, the sentence sounding too silly. Her skepticism won for a moment, and the idea that he would allow her near such magic without testing her seemed both foolhardy and highly flattering. And so, she did a strange thing - she trusted him.

Grateful she hadn't chosen robes in the summer heat, Themis unbuttoned the small row of buttons at each wrist, rolling her sleeves up to her elbow. "Show me." She approached the table and met his eyes, curious and eager to try.

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