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To Hector’s surprise, he was not hounded with questions from the other club members as soon as he entered the room. He received an occasional glance and nothing more, which stirred a mixture of emotion in him. On the one hand, he was all too glad to not be the center of attention again; but on the other, it reminded him of lonelier days, of that old feeling in his chest, as if his heart were being slowly squeezed.

‘This shit again,’ said Garovel, shaking Hector out of his morass. ‘They were worried about you when they thought you’d been injured, but I guess that’s worn off now.’

‘It’s fine. In fact, it’s probably better this way.’

‘Okay, Hector, it’s time to tell me why the hell they’re ignoring you like this. It’s annoying me, and I want to know.’

‘Ugh...’

Lance entered the clubroom, saw Hector, and immediately started walking over.

‘Aw, dammit, c’mon!’ Garovel pointed a bony finger at Hector. ‘You’re gonna tell me before we leave here today!’

‘Okay, fine...’

“Hey, Hector,” said Lance. “I was starting to think you’d quit the club again.”

“No, I’ve... just been, ah, busy.”

“Mm.” Lance smiled. He put his backpack on the table and rummaged through it. “Have a look.” He pulled out a pair of gauntlets.

Hector’s eyes widened. The ornate lines along the interlocking finger parts were particularly impressive, he felt. The fingertips were all pointed, almost like claws, and he could see that Lance had used more than one type of metal to achieve the varying tones of gray. “Wow...”

“Told you I could do it.”

“You sure did...” He went to pick one up, then confirmed Lance’s nod before inspecting it more closely. “How’d you get the metal so smooth? You couldn’t have just used a hammer.”

“No, I used my uncle’s furnace and molded all the big pieces from a melted state.”

“That’s really awesome...”

“Thanks. What about you? Did you ever finish your helm?”