Page 216 of Victorious

“Heya, Mitch,” said a regular, sliding onto a stool. “What’s good?”

He eyed the board. “Apple crumble,” he said, as Dol’s tail began to wag. A second later, the chime went off over the door, and Sydney swept in, her blond hair swishing in its ponytail. Her bangs pinned back over her blue eyes. Still trying to grow them out.

“Hey, Dad!” she called out, beelining for the corner booth. She slung her bag onto the seat, and flopped down beside it, bending to scratch Dol’s ears.

“Good boy,” she cooed. “You just wait, next year I’ll be able to get a pet-friendly room.”

Mitch came over, a mocha in one hand and a chocolate milk in the other.

He set the coffee in front of Syd, and sank into the seat across from her, maneuvering his legs around the massive dog.

“Dol likes it here,” he said. “He’s basically a vacuum cleaner. This morning I saw him eat seven French fries and a piece of toast. Plus a scoop of ice cream some kid dropped.”

Syd shook her head and curled her fingers around the hot cup. Her teeth were chattering. It was cold out, but not that cold.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Found a cat on the way over,” she said. “Must have been hit by a car. Couldn’t leave it there.”

Concern began to bubble up inside of Mitch. EON was gone. And as far as he could tell, nothing had risen in its place. He kept feelers going in every corner of the internet, just to be safe. So far, no one had tripped them. Still—

“Don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” he said.

“Tell that to your face,” she said, pointing at the two vertical creases that had taken up residence between his brows.

Mitch touched his forehead. “I thought they made me look distinguished.”

She snorted into her drink, and then hauled a laptop out of her bag, along with a textbook and some worksheets. She’d started at Lockland University last year after—well, after everything.

It was hard to believe she was already a sophomore. She didn’t look old enough to be in college, didn’t look old enough to drive across state lines to visit every other weekend, either—but she was both.

Sydney’s first week there, Mitch had split another version of himself just to keep an eye on her. He wasn’t proud of that, and she’d caught him pretty quickly—he still stood out like a sore thumb—but he was learning, slowly, to give her space. To find his own.

“My new professor is a genius. I’ve been waiting for her class.”

He glanced at the printout. “Daniela Dean,” he read aloud. The name tickled something in the back of his mind. “What does she teach?”

“Orgo,” said Syd, rolling her eyes. “Which is a waste, if you ask me. I could probably have tested out, but I’m hoping she’ll be my advisor.” Syd leaned closer. “She wrote a paper once on adrenocorticotrophic substrates.” Mitch shook his head, genuinely baffled, and Syd lowered her voice. “As in compounds that stimulate the adrenal cortex, like stress hormones.”

Mitch caught on. And remembered where he’d seen the name before. It had been on a list of chemists he’d compiled. For Victor.

“Sydney,” he started, but was cut off by the arrival of a slice of peach pie.

“Courtesy of the owner,” said the waitress, Bianca.

“How generous,” he deadpanned.

“Be sure to leave a tip!” she added, swanning away to check on the other tables. Mitch waited for her to go, then turned back to Sydney with a weighted look.

“Promise you’ll be careful.”

The corner of her mouth tipped up in a way that reminded him way too much of Victor. “Promise,” she said.

Mitch stabbed the fork into the pie. “So, you gonna head back?” he asked. Most times she stopped in long enough to give him grief, get a free meal, and pet the dog.

“Actually,” she said. “I was hoping I could spend the night.”