Clare sits there at the table, clutching her glass of milk; entirely untouched from the moment he started his story.

"That hallway was the last I saw her." Zach says, gazing forward with a numb, cattle-like stare.

"So... so she could still be alive!"

"... A few weeks later they found a skeleton in the rot, eaten over by nature at the edge of the sewer system. It was only after it was stripped clean enough for the bones to show that anyone noticed it... guess I can't blame 'em. No one likes to go down there."

The two are dead silent, each holding onto their beverage of choice like the one strand of comfortable lies a soul can cling to amidst the brutal, savage, demonic truth.

Clare looks up from her milk with a quiet, meek expression. "The story where she got bumped by an auto up on the mill rafters, then-"

"A lie."

She looks back down. "So, you mentioned something about a docto-"

"Doctor Petrassus. He's the class five medical examiner. His say is over everyone when it comes to medical opinion."

"... And he said she was crazy?"

"Just about." He takes a long breath, wrapping his hands around his bottle as if they were holding Mary's hands. "Said she was overcome with a bout of poor nerves and wasn't... wasn't 'viable for service' any more."

"But why?"

"She started... saying things."

"What kinds of things?"

Zach looks down to the table. "A whole lot of bullshit."

"Dad."

"It was. I don't want you hearing it."

"What was it?" She demands, her tone gaining a wry edge.

His breathing picks up. She knows that's a bad sign. "Honey, I'm saying this for your own good. She had a lot of ideas… separatist ideas. She was smart; smarter than me, that's for damn sure. But when you get too much of a good thing, you start putting yourself in dangerous places. She was in a dangerous place. She believed so much that there was more outside of Everhold a-"

"She thought there was something outside the walls?"

Zach sighs. "...Yeah."

"But isn't it just ocea-"

"Yes."

Clare draws back at her father's tone, but it's clear to both of them that the answer isn't good enough for her. She knows he hasn't seen it; no one has except King Victor.

"So... that's it, then?" she asks, looking away in an awkward, hurt mix of spite and shame.

"...Sweetie, I don't... I don't want you to look at your mom differently because of this. She was an amazing woman. It's just the way she left us was... harder than most. She had a lot of stress on her shoulders. Preventing the starvation of everyone in these walls was her job, her main responsibility."

"That's a lot for a person."

The two can't bare to look at the other.

"Just..." Zach scoots his chair back. "I'm sorry. I need some fres-"

"Just put it next to my room," Clare says with a start, beating him out of the kitchen at twice the speed as she heads directly upstairs. "Good night."

"I know you'll need some time," he says softly, scooting back up to the table with a sad frown. "I love you."

She slams the door behind her, and leans against it.

So this is how it happened. She was lied to, but she can forgive that. What she cannot stand is how he just accepted it. She spares a thought it might be because he'd rather live in a comfortable lie than a horrible truth, but it's not good enough for her. She's not sure what to feel, what to think: That her mother could still be out there, somewhere, and that he was too scared to go find out.

On the brink of tears, she braces deep into the door, not so much to keep anything out, but to push her immense frustration against something that can take it.

With a muffled sob, she comes to a decision. This is much bigger than a school project, but she can't just throw it off on the sidelines. If her father's right and there's nothing past there, if her mom really did just die for nothing, then she can always go back, and bring back a report on automaton safety standards in low-manned locations. She could make a case for it to never happen to anyone again, but right now, she'll expect the best.

She takes her chat stone, sends a small spark of magic in it that all humans possess, and raises it to her lips.

"Waine."

There's a pause before it lights up with his voice. "About time. Let's meet up at Jacques' and talk about it over some coffe-"

"I need your help with my project," she says bluntly, easing off the door and heading over to her bedroom window.

Another pause, and he responds with a surprised tone. "Wait... so you have an idea?"

"Yeah, and it's a big one."

"Well damn, alright! How may I help?"

"You need to... I don't know yet. I'll see you at Jacques' at eight."

"Yeah? Why so late?"

"I need to take a look at something."

"Where?"

"The library."

"Just some confirmation?"

"Something like that. See you."

"See y-"

She muffles the stone back into her pocket and reaches for the window. It won't be for a while for her dad to realize she's gone, especially he if keeps on drinking like he has been this week; he'll probably fall asleep before dinner's ready anyway.

Clare opens the window wide and crawls through. She's surprisingly lithe for her lifestyle of studious pursuits, and is able to navigate the small porch roof with little difficulty. She closes the window back with just an inch to spare, leans over the porch roof, and swings herself over with no more than an easily-managed meter-high fall to await her.

Her shoes making a delicate clopping sounds upon the brick, she lands and crouches down in the same movement to avoid being spotted from the window. She sneaks off until she's out of the pitch of the windows, and she's free. The library is just a quick ten minute walk away, she should be able to get all she needs to confirm her suspicions.