Word Count: 661

She brought Ganymede with her to keep the ghost occupied.

It worked. After only a single look at the shining symbol on Ganymede’s forehead, the ghost—usually so eloquent, and so averse to gentleness or acceptance—fell to silence, her customary pinched expression easing into a bewilderment that was almost tender.

Palatine frowned. She’d known Ganymede’s presence was likely to get the ghost off her back, at least long enough for her to do what needed to be done, but it rankled to watch them stare at one another.

“We had the same name,” Ganymede said, more an acknowledgement than an explanation.

“We did,” the ghost said.

It wasn’t wholly accurate, nor entirely wrong. Palatine knew this from what few conversations of the past she’d had with Ganymede. It wasn’t a subject she was particularly interested in. The past, in whatever form it took, very rarely was. It was all better left buried, as far as she was concerned—in memories, or graveyards, or Wonders far from Earth.

“The Code’s in trouble,” Palatine said. There was no point in wasting time. “Where’s the piece here?”

The ghost didn’t look at her. “In the vault.”

Palatine rolled her eyes and turned away, leaving them to whatever conversation the ghost felt they needed to have. Maybe they’d both get some closure. Palatine certainly wouldn’t. She never really had. Not in this life. Probably not in previous ones either. That seemed to be her fate, carrying the sort of scars that couldn’t be seen and never had the chance to heal.

She’d never been to the vault before, hadn’t even known it existed, but she knew her way to it instinctively. She followed whatever magic connected her to the Code, barely paying attention to her surroundings. The structure they’d come to was as old and derelict as she knew other Wonders must be, though it’d recovered some since her first visit. It probably would have recovered more with more effort from her. For a moment, Palatine struggled with a sense of guilt, but she squashed it quickly.

There was plenty for her to feel guilty for. She didn’t need to add this on top of it all.

The vault turned out to be a secret room that unlocked and opened with the help of her signet ring. In the very center of the room was a golden pedestal, atop which sat a plush silk cushion. The small, glowing piece of the Code floated around the room erratically. Whatever damage had happened to this place seemed more extensive here. The floor had splintered. The walls bore significant cracks. The pedestal itself looked to be listing to the side. Parts of the ceiling had caved in.

Palatine sighed. She stepped in and went to the pedestal, shifting it a little more upright. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, focused on her magic and the Code, tried to soothe both.

She saw flashes of nonsense—sitting in front of a fire with a warm weight in her lap; watching a group of children run around a well maintained garden; sweet laughter in the spring air; a stoic face with cold eyes; a voice that said, He is a child.

Palatine was not unaware that these were memories, but had little context to determine whose they were or what they meant. Nor was she aware of the time passing, minutes that stretched on while her surroundings went out of focus. There was nothing but her and the Code.

When it was done, the Code piece had come to rest atop the pedestal, floating over the plush cushion.

Palatine didn’t let herself feel satisfied, or relieved. She didn’t let herself linger. She’d done what was necessary, not out of concern or altruism but because it had to be done. She had no use for anything else.

“Let’s go,” she said when she went to fetch Ganymede.

What conversation passed without her, Palatine had no desire to ask.