Page 36 - DivineSparkRisingFinal

Divine Spark Rising
tin, shook one into his palm, and set a folded
napkin between them.
“The city’s louder than it used to be,” he
murmured in Portuguese. “Too loud for truth to
breathe.”
Henry didn’t touch the napkin. Folded sharp,
military neat. That told him enough: someone
trained. Someone inside the machine.
The man’s thumb circled the peppermint tin,
round and round. Not a fidget. A pattern. A spiral.
Recognition struck. The slumped shoulders. The
restless eyes. The jaw twitch. The man from the
Rossio.
“I heard a name,” Henry said quietly. “The
Curator.”
The man’s voice was low, almost lost under the
street noise. “You don’t meet the Curator. You’re
chosen. And once you are, your life isn’t yours
anymore.”
He stood and walked into the side streets. No
glance back. No wave. Just gone.
He sat for a long moment, the napkin warm in
his hand, the faint scent of peppermint hanging in
the air like a ghost that hadn’t decided whether to
leave. The magnolia petals shifted in the breeze, a
few drifting down onto the bench beside him.
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