Chapter 25 : Elias’s Old Wound
There were three things I was certain of in life:
1. Rhea would eventually burn down the school library—whether by accident or enthusiasm.
2. I would die of embarrassment long before I died of old age.
3. And I was absolutely fine. Always. Totally fine. No issues whatsoever.
Until I passed out in the middle of boiling pasta.
Rhea had just finished her Suspension Day Number Three crafting project (a disturbingly lifelike fire-breathing sock puppet she named "General Toast") when she found me face-first on the kitchen floor, surrounded by a constellation of dried noodles and unconscious groaning.
"Elias?" she said, nudging me with the sock puppet's snout.
Groan.
"Elias, did you fall asleep cooking? That's inefficient and also smells like despair."
She poked again, harder this time. "Elias. Elias, are you dead?"
A pause.