Page 89 of The Slug Crystal
Marco clears his throat, straightening in his chair as he taps decisively on his tablet screen. The gesture is socharacteristic, his way of bringing structure back to emotional chaos, that it's oddly comforting.
"Speaking of solutions," he says, turning the tablet to face us, "I believe I've found another lead." His finger points to an image on the screen. It’s a photo of Sarah holding one of her crystal kits, standing in front of a shop with an ornate sign. "This was recently tagged on her business account. The original posting is from approximately three months ago, geotagged at a specialty shop in Milan."
My heart leaps, hope fluttering against my ribs like a captured bird. "Milan? That's what, three hours from here?"
"Approximately, yes," Marco confirms, adjusting his glasses. "The establishment appears to specialize in rare minerals and crystals. Sarah appears to sell her wares there. They might have records of her sales, contact information, or knowledge of her current whereabouts. Even though this was several months ago, if she is not in Milan, it is more likely that they will have maintained contact with Sarah to pay her for the sales she makes through the store."
"Milan," Jake repeats thoughtfully. "We could be there by this afternoon."
"So, we finish the journey," Luca says, already reaching for his phone, presumably to arrange transportation. "Find Sarah, fix Alex, and then decide what happens next."
"And if we can't find her?" I ask, voicing the fear that's haunted me since Venice. "If this is another dead end?"
"Then we regroup and try something else," Ben says with surprising gentleness. "But we don't give up."
"So, the plan is... Milan, then no plan?" I ask, turning my attention back to the terrarium.
"The plan is to keep searching," Jake corrects gently. "And to handle whatever comes next. Together."
I look around at the four of them and feel a surge of gratitude so powerful it momentarily eclipses my guilt. Whatever mess I've created, at least I'm not facing it alone.
My gaze shifts back to Alex's terrarium. The blue snail has paused his exploration, his body angled toward us as if listening to our conversation. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine he understands, that somewhere inside that spiral shell, the human Alex is aware of our efforts to help him.
"What do you think?" I ask him directly, feeling slightly foolish but needing to include him in this decision. "Milan? One more try?"
The snail remains motionless for a long moment, then slowly turns and moves toward the water dish, his usual morning routine, nothing that could reasonably be interpreted as communication. Yet, in my heart, I choose to let the movement feel like agreement.
I softly wipe the last traces of tears from my face. "Majority rules."
Marco begins outlining a detailed plan for our trip to Milan, his scholarly precision bringing order to our chaos. Jake squeezes my hand once more before rising to prepare Alex's terrarium for travel. Ben and Luca debate the fastest route, their voices regaining their usual animated energy.
“Hold on,” Luca interrupts suddenly, phone in hand. He squints at the screen, scrolling rapidly. “There’s a planned strike today. It impacts almost all Italian trains, with no service until at least tomorrow around noon. If we leave today, we’ll have to scramble to find another route.”
Ben groans, slumping dramatically in his chair. “Of course. The universe clearly wants us to sit around and eat more carbs before we save the day.”
Marco adjusts his glasses. “It would be wiser to leave once the strike concludes. A morning departure ensures fewer disruptions.”
“Fine,” Jake says, already reorganizing the plan in his head. “We’ll go first thing tomorrow. Everyone gets a good night of rest, then Milan.”
The kitchen buzzes with renewed purpose again, but I canfeel the edges of exhaustion pressing in. I can't undo my mistake, but I can keep trying to fix it, keep following every lead until we find Sarah. Or until we accept that some transformations can't be reversed.
Either way, the journey will continue. To Milan and hopefully to answers. And if not, to whatever comes next.
21ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATIONS
Wednesday,9:31PM. The night air wraps around me like silk as Marco and I step from the villa’s terrace onto the gravel path for a walk. Stars puncture the velvet darkness overhead, impossibly bright without city lights to dim them. After the emotional storm of this morning and the frantic planning for tomorrow's trip to Milan, this quiet moment feels stolen—a breath between heartbeats.
Marco walks beside me, his profile sharp against the darkness, hands clasped behind his back in what I've come to recognize as his thinking pose. "I thought you might need some air," he says, his voice low and measured as always, though something in it seems looser than usual. "The others devolved into another debate about train schedules versus the airport tomorrow."
I smile, grateful for the escape. "And you didn't want to contribute your scholarly opinion on the optimal transportation method?"
"I've found that Ben and Luca arguing about logistics is rather like watching two cats fighting over territory, entertaining but ultimately pointless to interfere with." His lips curve upward slightly, the moonlight catching in his eyesbehind his glasses. "Besides, I wanted to check on you. This morning was... intense."
Gravel crunches beneath our feet as we follow the winding path deeper into the garden. Luca's uncle’s gardener has created something magical here. The hedges are trimmed into perfect geometrical shapes, and they frame beds of herbs that release their fragrance as we brush past. Lemon trees stand like sentinels along the perimeter, their blossoms perfuming the night air with sweet citrus. Fireflies blink between the branches, living constellations mirroring the stars above.
"I'm okay," I tell him, though the words feel inadequate. "Just needed to let it out, I guess. I've been holding everything in since Venice. The nap afterwards helped, too," I add with a small laugh.
Marco nods, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "Emotional suppression is rarely sustainable. The psyche requires release valves." He pauses, then adds more softly, "I should know."
