"No, I know," he said, too fast, as though he wanted to cut her off and keep her from saying too much. Of course it had been. Of course it hadn't meant anything, even if it had been a little... lingering. But maybe that wasn't even right, maybe it was just that time had seemed to slow down for him when he realized what he was looking at. "Of course it was. Of course."

It wasn't supposed to hurt any more. The spells he'd experimented with other the summer; they were supposed to have dulled all of this. He'd put it aside when Cecilia died, and undone all of his hard work, it seemed — because this felt just like it had before, a year ago, five years ago. Even if he succeeded in numbing it all he suspected he would still feel the echo of the pain.

I wish, he thought, and he could feel his mouth opening to say it. He clamped it shut and hugged the books to his chest, desperately biting back the remark before he could further betray himself. "I'm sorry," he blurted instead. "Something's wrong with me."

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