The Surviving Twin

horne. My mentor. He stood on the stage, a confident smile on his face, accepting the applause. Behind him

. My resear

the crumpled program in my hand, my knuckles white. Just an hour ago, he had looked me in the eyes, his own eyes col

it for a round of applause and a fat new research grant from his c

the speakers, "is the culmination of years of tireless wo

to get out. I pushed myself up, my legs shaking. The faces in the crowd were a b

my gut. I leaned against a pillar, trying to catch my breath. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A stream of notifications.

inging me coffee, his hand on my shoulder, telling me, "You're a once-in-a-generation talent, Anya." I had believed

all of them laughing. He looked over their heads and his eyes found mine. For a second, just a second, I saw something flicker i

It was a sharp, brutal cramp that stole my breath and buckled my

olished marble floor seemed to rush up to meet me. My research, my career, it all felt so distant now. The only thin

e I blacked out was Julian's pristine, polishe