Page 102 of The Slug Crystal
Jake studies the snail, head tilted in consideration. "Maybe he's just retaining water," he suggests, his attempt at humor falling flat as my expression remains troubled. "Or maybe the lettuce at the restaurant was especially nutritious?"
"I'm serious, Jake," I insist, pressing my finger against the glass to trace the outline of Alex's shell. "Something's different."
The men exchange glances over my head. It’s the kind of silent communication that passes between people who share a concern they don't want to voice. Marco approaches, his scholarly curiosity engaged despite his obvious hesitation.
"Growth in adult gastropods is unusual but not unprecedented," he offers, peering through the glass. "Though the rate you're suggesting would be... remarkable."
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask, looking up at him. "If he's growing?"
Marco's hesitation tells me everything his words don't. "It's... unexpected. Given that his transformation was magicalrather than biological, any changes could indicate..." He trails off, clearly unwilling to speculate further.
"Indicate what?" I press, anxiety coiling in my stomach.
"It could mean nothing," Jake interjects, straightening and placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Let's not jump to conclusions."
The tightness in my chest expands, making it hard to breathe. What if Alex is still transforming? What if the spell isn't stable? What if he's still changing, becoming something else entirely, something we can't change back?
Ben surprises me by kneeling beside me, his usual sardonic mask replaced by genuine concern. "Hey," he says softly, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "One crisis at a time, okay? We're all exhausted. You most of all." His hand finds mine, warm and steady. "The villa sounds like a good idea. We can watch Alex there, see if there's really a change or if it's just... I don't know, a gastropod growth spurt or something."
"Ben's right," Jake agrees, his fingers squeezing my shoulder lightly. "We all need rest. A few days in the countryside might help clear our heads. Plus, things in the terrarium could have shifted. We’ve been moving non-stop for weeks.”
I look around at the four of them and find them wearing expressions with varying levels of concern. I force a small smile, glancing back at Alex briefly, then forcing myself to look away. They’re probably right, I’m just tired. "Okay," I finally agree, my voice smaller than I'd like. "The villa plan. But we keep looking for Sarah in a few days. And we monitor Alex closely."
"Done," Luca says with immediate certainty. "Our accommodations are set. We can leave first thing tomorrow."
I nod and rise from the couch, suddenly exhausted. "Thank you,” I murmur in Luca’s direction. “We should all get some rest," I add, moving toward the door to the room Islept in last night. No one tries to stop me, though I feel their concerned gazes following my retreat.
At the threshold, I pause, looking back at the terrarium in Jake’s arms. Is he really bigger, or am I seeing problems where none exist? Is my guilt creating phantoms, or is something genuinely wrong?
"Goodnight," I say softly, not sure if I'm addressing the men or the snail or both.
In my own room, I curl onto the bed fully clothed, not bothering to undress. The sounds of Milan filter through my window. The noises of distant traffic, snippets of conversation from the street below, and an occasional siren wailing through narrow streets. I stare at the ceiling, watching headlight beams track across it as cars navigate the roads far below.
Alone with my thoughts, I keep seeing Alex's blue shell, keep imagining it expanding, changing, becoming something we never anticipated. If he's still transforming, what does that mean for our quest? For him? For me?
The questions circle like hungry predators, finding no answers in the shadowed corners of my hotel room. I close my eyes against the city lights, willing sleep to come, knowing it will likely elude me.
23RAINY DAYS ARE ALWAYS TROUBLE
Sunday,11:47AM. Luca's family friend’s villa turns out to be a sprawling stone house nestled among cypress trees, with a view of rolling hills that stretch to the horizon. After two days of settling in, unpacking, exploring, and trying to shake the disappointment of Milan, I find myself surrendering to the strange new rhythm we've established here. The men have taken turns caring for Alex, and monitoring his terrarium for any signs of growth, freeing me from the constant weight of responsibility. They also seem to be taking turns making sure that I’m entertained, so that I don’t spend too long with my thoughts.
"Your feet must be killing you after all that walking this morning," Jake says, patting the couch cushion beside him after I return from a three-mile walk with Marco. "Let me help."
I hesitate, then sink into the soft leather. Jake lifts my feet onto his lap, his hands already glistening with warmed olive oil he's prepared. Luca won’t stop talking to everyone about the benefits of using olive oil for literally anything. According to him, it can be used for hair care, massages, as a daily lotion, and even to cure headaches
When Jake’s thumbs press into my arch and smooth the oil into my skin, I have to bite my lip to stifle a moan. Maybe Luca has been on to something.
"Too hard?" Jake asks, interrupting my thoughts, his blue eyes concerned.
"Perfect," I manage, letting my head fall back as he works the soreness from my heels, the balls of my feet, and each individual toe, somehow knowing exactly where tension hides in my body.
"You've been carrying too much," he murmurs, his strong fingers working up to my ankles. "Not just miles on these feet, but everything else too."
Jake's thumb finds a knot at the base of my heel, and a wave of pleasure-pain rushes through me. "God, you're good at that," I breathe.
His smile is warm but restrained. "Years of massaging out my own sports injuries." I wiggle my toes in appreciation, earning a low chuckle that vibrates through his hands and into my bones.
Jake’s hands move higher, kneading gently over my ankles, circling the knobs of bone with practiced ease. My whole body feels heavy, liquid, as though I might melt into the couch. His touch is steady and grounding.
