He came in and sat on my desk, as usual, oblivious to my need for solitude while I wrote, adding to it this time by bumping and scattering half of the Minoan artifact I’d been so carefully piecing together for the last week. I tried to fit the pieces back together as best I could while I waited for him to speak.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You did this, don’t try to pin it on me. You’ve been the worst kind of leech, a constant drain on me, not giving a thing in return but an illusion of happiness.”

“But…â€?

I looked up into his eyes. The warmth he had become so used to seeing there was gone, replaced with a cold, hard, finality. He knew then that I was serious this time, he really would have to go.

“But, where…?”

“I don’t care.”

I caressed the fragments of the ancient dagger I’d devoted the last four years to studying and, for a moment, the coldness in my eyes was replaced with a dangerous flash.

“In two days, I give the most important presentation of my life. Don’t be here when I get back.â€?