DAWN crept across the Emerald City's spires, turning their faceted surfaces from deepest jade to liquid gold. The first rays of sunlight caught Boq's tin surface in unexpected ways, scattering diamonds of light across the palace walls—a display that would have once delighted him, back when he was flesh and blood and prone to such simple joys.
Now it only reminded him of how Ryn's brown eyes had sparkled in the lamplight last night, how the young Munchkin woman had looked at him with such unguarded curiosity in that quiet alcove.
His tin fingers drummed against the palace balcony railing, creating a soft metallic rhythm that seemed to echo the odd tempo of his thoughts. The morning air held just enough moisture to make his joints protest slightly, but he couldn't quite bring himself to go inside. Not yet. Not when the memory of Ryn's hand resting so naturally on his arm still lingered, as if it had always belonged there, making his heart clock tick in strange, syncopated patterns he'd thought impossible.
"Well," he murmured to himself, that familiar quaver in his voice, "this is another fine mess you've gotten yourself into, isn't it?" The question hung in the air, accompanied by the soft creak of his neck as he tilted his head to watch the early-rising servants begin their morning tasks in the courtyard below. "First, crying in alcoves like a rusted rain spout, then scaring that poor young woman half to death…" He trailed off, recalling that wasn't quite true, was it? Ryn hadn't been afraid of him. Since his transformation, others had judged and feared him, but not Ryn. Last night, this beautiful, compassionate Munchkin woman had seen him as normal—as just another Munchkin man.
She'd said his name last night—his real name—without hesitation or pity, and she'd not asked him any questions about how it had happened to him. No curious glances at his metal joints, no flinching at his oily tears, no painful questions about the flesh and blood Munchkin man he used to be.
For the first time since his transformation, he'd felt…at peace. The sensation was so foreign he'd spent half the night trying to understand it, wandering the palace corridors long after the victory celebrations had died down.
The usual ghosts hadn't haunted him—not Elphaba's final screams, not Nessa's desperate spells, not waking to find himself transformed into this hollow tin man.
Instead, his mind had kept returning to that moment where Ryn had looked at him and seemed to see past the tin, past the title of 'hero', past everything he'd become, to whatever remained of who he truly was.
He lifted his tin hand to his face, fingers scraping against the metal surface. A sound like a sigh escaped his lips, and he moved his hand to his neck, feeling the joints growing stiff—he'd need to oil them soon. The memory of the young Munchkin woman lingered vividly in his mind—Ryn in the palace corridor, light streaming through the windows and glinting off her dark brown hair. Her warm brown eyes and her bright smile seemed unmatched in all of Oz. The thought brought a sharp jolt to his hollow chest.
He never imagined another woman, aside from Glinda, could stir these old, forgotten feelings. Yet deep inside, something fought against them. Though the feelings were light and breathless, a darker undercurrent stirred within him—a shadowy sense of wrongness, taunting him from the depths of his mind.
Do you really think she saw past the tin? The voice in his mind sneered. Still chasing after women who'll never want you...
"N-no," he whispered, straightening his frame with a series of soft clicks and creaks. "T-this is different." He adjusted his funnel cap for the dozenth time that morning—a nervous habit that had always worn a shiny spot in his tin waves—and pushed himself away from the balcony railing.
The courtyard below was beginning to fill with the usual morning bustle: servants hurrying with fresh linens, gardeners clearing away the remnants of last night's celebrations, and guards changing shifts with practiced precision.
Boq nearly smiled thinking about Ryn's kindness and modesty. Surely she'd find it annoying if he checked on her and dropped by the salons where she worked unannounced, especially so early in the morning when she would likely be busy with patrons …but the desire to talk with her again won over his doubts.
His tin hands trembled at his sides as he finally turned from the balcony, brushing against his metal frame with soft tinks that reminded him, absurdly, of rain. Had he still possessed sweat glands, they would have been working frantically indeed.
Boq twisted his face into what he hoped was a warm, dignified expression, though the creaking of his facial plates suggested otherwise. His feet carried him away from the balcony and through the palace corridors, each step accompanied by the gentle scrape of metal against marble. The morning sun streaming through the stained glass windows warmed his tin surface as he charted his path through the hallways.
The Wash and Brush Up Co. wasn't far—it sat nestled in the palace's east wing, its ornate copper sign still polished to a mirror shine. How strange to think that this was where they'd all been transformed that day—Dorothy's hair curled and styled, Lion's mane trimmed, perfumed, and beribboned, the Scarecrow re-stuffed with fresh hay. Even Boq himself had been buffed and polished until he'd gleamed like new. They'd emerged feeling prepared to meet the great and powerful Oz himself, not knowing then how their destinies would unfold.
Now here he was again, drawn back to the same salon where their adventure had truly begun. Only this time, it wasn't the promise of an audience with the Wizard that pulled him forward—it was the hope of seeing Ryn's smile, of hearing her say his name again in that way that made his heart clock skip a tick.
The salon was already bustling when he reached its arched entrance, the morning air perfumed with hair tonics and polish. Several attendants moved gracefully between stations, but his gaze found Ryn immediately.
She was arranging combs and brushes at her station. Her dark hair was tucked beneath a matching white cap, drawn into two neat braids that made Boq's hollow chest clang with the memory of Dorothy's pigtails. But while Dorothy's had been the carefree plaits of a child, Ryn's were elegantly twisted and pinned—practical yet striking in a way that made Boq's heart clock falter in its rhythm.
Boq hesitated in the doorway, his joints creaking softly with nervous tension. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Perhaps he should turn back. But before he could act on the impulse, Ryn turned and caught sight of him. For a brief moment, surprise flitted across her face, but it quickly gave way to a small, hesitant smile.
Her eyes sparkled in the morning light, and she fiddled with the ends of one of her plaited braids as she said softly, "Hello, Boq. It's...it's wonderful to see you again." Her voice was warm, yet tinged with a hint of nervousness, as though she wasn't quite sure if he'd wanted to be noticed. Ryn's fingers fidgeted with a comb she'd been holding, spinning it absently between her hands. "I...I was hoping you'd stop by today," she added, her words hurried, as if she'd surprised herself by saying them aloud.
Boq's joints stiffened, the faint creak of metal filling the small gap of silence as he struggled to find the right words. His gaze flicked up cautiously, meeting hers, and the sight before him was unexpectedly soothing.
Ryn's smile, shy but genuine, seemed to soften the air around them. Instead of the wariness he was so used to seeing, her expression reflected something that startled him: genuine happiness. He searched her face, almost bracing for the faintest flicker of hesitation or fear, but it wasn't there.
The sincerity in her expression was disarming, and the last thing she'd said played over in his mind on a loop: she was happy to see him. It was such a foreign thing to hear that he wasn't sure how to respond.
"Well, it is..." he started, his voice faltering under the weight of the moment. He trailed off, fumbling to assemble his thoughts into something coherent. "W-wonderful to see you as well," he finished, his words clunky and uneven. "I-I didn't mean to interrupt." His hands tensed at his sides, the soft scrape of metal against metal nearly lost in the salon's busy hum. "I just thought..." He attempted a smile, but his face plates creaked and the expression emerged lopsided.
Ryn tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a flush creeping up her neck. "Oh no, you're not interrupting at all." Her voice was soft, almost lost in the gentle snip of scissors nearby. "I was about to take my break, actually..." She lifted her gaze to meet his, something hopeful flickering in her expression. "Would you like to sit? We could talk for a while."
Boq's heart clock stuttered in its rhythm. "I'd like that," he managed, the words rushing together. But then he caught the curious glances from the other stylists - quick, darting looks that made his joints feel too tight. His hands curled tighter, metal grinding against metal.
Ryn stepped closer as if trying to shield him from the attention. "There's a quiet spot in the back," she offered, her fingers twisting the fabric of her apron. Pink bloomed deeper across her cheeks. "Away from everyone."
Relief eased through his tin frame as he followed her through the maze of styling stations. The salon's symphony of voices and clinking tools faded with each step until they reached a small table tucked into a sun-warmed nook.
Morning light spilled through the window, catching the hints of copper in Ryn's hair as she pulled out a chair. Boq's joints creaked as he eased himself into the chair opposite Ryn, his joints releasing a soft creak in the stillness of the nook.
"I...I hope I'm not pulling you away from your work," he said, a nervous edge to his voice. "I'm h-hardly in need of a trim these days." He managed a little nervous chuckle, tapping his metallic waves with a soft clink.
Ryn's fingers toyed with the edge of her apron, her lips curving into a shy smile. "The morning rush won't start for a while yet," she replied gently. Her gaze flicked up to meet his before darting away, the flush deepening in her cheeks. "I...I'm glad you're here I wanted to...to make sure you were alright, after last night. Everything happened so quickly, and I wasn't sure if..." She faltered, her words trailing off as if unsure how to express the thought.
"If I'd want to show my tin face after making such a spectacle of myself?" Boq laughed nervously, adjusting his funnel cap. "Truth is, I almost didn't. Spent half the night pacing these corridors like a wound-up toy soldier. But then I thought..." He trailed off, his voice growing softer. "W-well, I thought about how kind you were. About how you didn't look at me like I was just some...some clanking curiosity."
"You're not a curiosity," Ryn said quickly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "You're..." She bit her lip, seeming to struggle with the words. "You're just Boq. The way you told me last night."
"Just Boq," he repeated wonderingly, his frame shifting restlessly in his seat. "It's... it's been so long since anyone's called me by my name, I'd almost forgotten how it feels." He shifted in his chair with a gentle creak. "Though I suppose a rusty tin man like me shouldn't get too used to such kindness."
"Oh, don't say that." Ryn's voice was soft, but there was a firmness to it that made Boq's joints still. "Just because you're made of tin doesn't make your feelings any less real or any less important."
Their eyes met across the sunlit table, and for a moment, Boq forgot about his tin form, about the curious stares from the other stylists, about everything except the gentle understanding in Ryn's gaze.
"I...uh..." Boq awkwardly traced patterns on the surface of the table, creating a faint metallic rhythm as he searched for the right words. His face plates creaked slightly, betraying his unease. "That's very kind of you to say," he finally managed, his voice tinged with self-consciousness. "Though it's hard to feel all that important when one's head is, well, quite empty."
Ryn's brow furrowed briefly as if considering his words. "Empty? I don't think so," she said softly, her tone thoughtful. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, she leaned forward slightly, her expression bright with sudden inspiration. "You know, I've been thinking about what you said last night, about your hair." She gestured toward his metallic waves. "It really is beautifully crafted. Almost like...like mountain laurel, the way it catches the light."
Boq's heart clock skipped a tick, remembering how those same flowers had grown near his old cottage on the outskirts of Munchkinland.
"R-really? That's...that's quite the coincidence, a-actually. Back home, I used to..." He trailed off, suddenly flustered by how intently she was looking at him. "W-well, I had a little garden, and the mountain laurel was always my favorite. Though I dare say they were much prettier than these tin locks."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Ryn said softly, reaching up as if to touch one of his metallic waves before catching herself and pulling her hand back, her cheeks flushing pink. "I mean...they have their own kind of charm."
"T-they do?" Boq squeaked, his joints creaking softly as he straightened in his chair. "You're one of the first to ever say anything nice about them, aside from..." He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.
Dorothy's name hovered on the edge of his mind, and just the thought of her brought a swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
His eyes prickled with unshed tears, and he furiously blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. With a quick shake of his head, he pushed the feelings aside, though the ache lingered in his chest.
Dorothy was gone, and he knew deep down his dear friend wasn't likely to return. He remembered he owed Ryn an answer and parted his lips to speak, though it took him a moment to find the words.
"Most folks just wonder why a tin man like me has any hair at all!" Boq adjusted his funnel cap nervously, then added in a softer voice, "Though it's...it's rather nice to hear."
"Well, I am a stylist," Ryn replied with a small, teasing smile, her fingers twisting absently around one of her dark braids. "I notice these things. And speaking of hair, I meant what I said about helping with yours sometimes. If you'd like it polished or...or just touched up, I'd be happy to help."
"You... you'd do that?" Boq's voice was filled with wonder, his joints squeaking with agitation. "Even though I'm just a... well, a tin man?" He hesitated, then added with a nervous laugh, "Though I should warn you, I tend to get rather squeaky when I'm nervous. And having such a pretty girl fixing my hair would make me very nervous indeed!" His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he'd said. "I mean—oh no—that's not to say you're not pretty, it's just—I'm babbling, aren't I?"
Ryn's blush deepened, but her smile grew warmer. "I don't mind a little squeaking," she said softly. "It's...it's rather endearing, actually."
"En-endearing?" Boq's voice cracked on the word, and his heart clock ticked so loudly he was sure she must hear it. "W-well, I...that's...new!" He fanned himself with his funnel cap, his joints creaking with barely contained excitement. "No one's ever called my squeaking endearing before. Usually, they just suggest I need more oil!"
Ryn laughed, the sound like tiny silver bells, stirring something in Boq's hollow chest that he hadn't felt in years. "Well, then they weren't listening properly." Her gaze flicked toward the window, where the morning sun was climbing higher. "I should probably get back to work soon, but..." She hesitated, then added hopefully, "Maybe you could come by again later? Perhaps during lunch?" The moment the words were out of her mouth, she froze. "Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry - I wasn't thinking. You... you can't..." A soft blush colored her cheeks as she fidgeted with her apron. "Perhaps you could just keep me company while I eat? I'd love to hear more of your stories, and I promise not to make you feel awkward about the food...?"
"Y-you mean...you'd like to see me again?" Boq asked, his voice filled with delighted disbelief. "Even after all my rattling and clanking about?"
"Especially because of all your rattling and clanking about," Ryn replied, her eyes twinkling. "It wouldn't be you without it."
The sunlight caught her smile just then, and the sight sent a jolt through his hollow chest. Perhaps being made of tin wasn't such a terrible thing after all – not when it meant having moments like this, with someone who saw the phantom heart beneath the hollow.
"Gracious..." he murmured, his fingers tapping on the table's surface nervously, "you have a way of making even a tin man like me feel almost... w-well, normal." His stutter remained, but his voice had a warmth that hadn't been there before.
"I like that you're not normal," Ryn chirped, then immediately recoiled and reddened madly, "I-I shouldn't have said that. I mean...oh dear, that came out all wrong. What I meant was..." She twisted her apron between her fingers. "You're special, Boq. Different in a good way."
"D-different in a good way?" Boq repeated slowly. "That's...that's something I never thought I'd hear. But you know..." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. "You're quite different yourself, Ryn. Most people just see the tin and run the other way. But you..." His tone softened, almost reverent. "You saw me crying in an alcove last night and you didn't run at all."
Ryn's hands stilled in her lap, her gaze meeting his. "Maybe I didn't want to run," she whispered.
Boq's joints creaked as he straightened suddenly, his tin features frozen in surprise. For a moment, he couldn't find his voice – words seemed to stick somewhere in his hollow chest. He'd grown so used to people flinching away, to sideways glances and hurried exits, that her quiet admission felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Boq watched as Ryn's expression shifted ever so slightly. She straightened her posture and clasped her hands more tightly in her lap, appearing almost embarrassed. The silence stretched between them as she seemed lost in thought, her gaze distant before finally returning to meet his.
Goodness, but if he had his true heart now, it would be racing. Ryn's warm brown eyes sparkled in the light surrounding them, making his tin form feel less cold somehow.
A question nagged at him, one he couldn't shake – why had she chosen to stay with him last night?
"It is d-definitely nice to see you again b-but..." He hesitated, uncertainty gripping him. The memory of Nessarose's sharp voice echoed in his mind, scolding him for what she'd called his 'ridiculous' questions. He tried to push the painful recollection away, but it clung to him like rust. "Why...why did you stay last night?"
"I—I'm not quite sure, Boq," she whispered, ducking her head as a blush colored her cheeks. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve before she glanced up at him through her lashes. "Maybe...maybe I'm just looking for a friend. If—if that's alright?" Her blush deepened as she seemed to realize what she'd said, and she quickly looked down at her hands, which were now twisting together in her lap. "I mean, I know you probably have many friends already, and I'm just—just one of the stylists here, but..." She peeked up at him again with a small, hopeful smile. "I liked talking with you last night..."
Her words sent an unfamiliar jolt through Boq. A hesitant smile formed on his metallic features, reflecting on her. The morning light played across her features, and for a fleeting moment, he wished he could still feel warmth the way he once had. But when she smiled—gentle, understanding, as though she could see past every inch of tin—he felt something different settle deep in his hollow chest, a warmth he'd thought impossible without his true heart.
"You know," he began hesitantly, his hands twisting together anxiously, "I was thinking...that is, if you'd l-like to...maybe we could go for a w-walk sometime? When you're not working, of course."
Before he could finish, the faint sound of footsteps echoed behind them, accompanied by familiar voices drawing closer. The sudden intrusion shattered the quiet moment, pulling Boq back to reality.
"Found him!" Lion's booming voice carried across the salon. "Told ya he'd be here, didn't I? A Lion's nose knows!"
Boq stifled a groan of frustration as he turned, his neck creaking as he did so, to see his friends approaching, led by the guard who had once served as the Wizard's attendant. With the Wizard gone, the man had chosen to remain in the Emerald City, now serving Lady Glinda with the same stiff formality. His elaborate green uniform seemed even more starched and pristine than usual, the brass buttons gleaming under the morning light.
"Tin Man, here you are, but now, this is most irregular. Her Goodness, she calls for you. She requests to speak with you in the East Solar," the guard huffed, drawing himself up to his full height - which, given the salon's low-hanging chandelier, forced him to develop a peculiar sideways lean that he pretended was entirely intentional.
Boq felt as if all the oil had drained from his joints. Glinda wanted to see him?
The guard's carefully waxed mustache performed a complicated dance of disapproval as he came to stand before Boq and Ryn's table, nearly knocking over a display of hair tonics in his attempt to maintain his dignity.
"According to Palace Protocol Manual Version 7.3, Spring Edition," the guard announced with the gravity of someone heralding a royal birth, "all summons must be received with appropriate promptness and decorum, NOT-" his mustache quivered in vexation- "while engaging in unauthorized follicular festivities!"
Boq barely heard him, his tin mind whirling with memories at the revelation that the Good Witch of the North wanted to speak to him alone. The same Glinda who had walked past him countless times in the corridors of Shiz, her eyes sliding over him as if he were merely part of the scenery. Even on the day Dorothy left Oz for good, when he'd stood right before her, tin and hollow but still the same Boq who had once carried her books and memorized her schedule just to catch glimpses of her between classes, she had met his gaze only briefly—and there hadn't been even a flicker of recognition in those perfect brown eyes.
"..Her Most Luminous Goodness Lady Glinda the Radiantly Punctual has specifically requested your presence," the guard continued, producing an elaborate scroll from his jacket with such flourish that he nearly knocked his ceremonial hat off. His mustache trembled with the pride of someone presenting a priceless artifact. "Complete with not one but THREE proper seals of urgency and the new green binding that Her Most Effervescent Goodness introduced just last week!"
"Now see here—" Scarecrow began, but the guard silenced him with a flourish so elaborate he nearly took out a shelf of hair ribbons.
"Her Most Punctual Goodness," the guard announced, his chest puffing up so dramatically that several of his uniform buttons strained in protest, "was quite specific in her request for the Tin Man and only the Tin Man." His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits as they darted between Boq and Ryn, voice dropping to the tone of a conspiracy theorist uncovering a vast scandal. "Though I'm sure she'll be fascinated to hear about these unauthorized salon-based assemblies. I'll just need to file an Improper Location Discovery Report..." He began to extract what looked like an entire filing cabinet's worth of paperwork from his seemingly bottomless coat.
Boq wrung his hands together anxiously, the squeaking of his joints providing a nervous percussion to the guard's paper shuffling. "Did... did her Goodness say what—"
"Certainly not," the guard cut him off with prissy precision, his mustache achieving what appeared to be a perfect figure-eight of scandalized propriety. He leaned in close as if sharing a state secret. "If Her Gracious Punctual Luminous Goodness Lady Glinda the Administratively Efficient wanted you to know, she would have filed the appropriate pre-meeting agenda forms. In triplicate."
Ryn had gone very still beside him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The intimate warmth of their earlier conversation evaporated like morning dew under the guard's bureaucratic frost.
The interruption left a chill in the air. Boq froze, caught between the sharp authority of the mustachioed official and the lingering warmth of his unfinished conversation with Ryn. The man's clipped voice sliced through whatever excuse Boq might have mustered, his patience—if it existed at all—visibly fraying. "Are you deaf as well as tin?" he snapped. "Now!"
"Yes, I-I'm coming..." Boq stammered, rising from his chair with a series of soft creaks. His tin features twisted with regret as he turned back to Ryn. "I'm so sorry about all this. I'd hoped..."
Ryn stepped aside, her expression gentle as she shook her head. "Go," she said softly. "It's alright. We can talk again later—at a better time."
"Forward march," the guard sniffed with the delicate disdain of someone who'd discovered a spot on their pristine uniform. He began striding toward the door with such a perfect posture that he appeared to be trying to impersonate a ruler. "And do try to minimize squeaking during transit - you haven't filed a Public Ambulatory Noise Permit for today." His mustache led the way like a particularly officious divining rod as he paraded them through the salon's grand entrance, each boot click against the marble floor a crisp reminder of proper palace protocol.
Boq's joints creaked with every step, his mind lingering on that sun-warmed corner of the salon, on Ryn's unfinished words. The last thing he saw was her silhouette against the morning sun, one hand half-raised as if to call him back before the guard's precisely measured steps carried him away into whatever uncertainty awaited.
As they hurried down the emerald-lined hallway, the Lion nudged Boq with a massive paw, nearly sending him stumbling. "So," he rumbled in what he probably thought was a whisper, though it echoed loudly off the palace walls, "word around the palace is one of the maids saw you with a lady in the corridors last night. Was that her?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Getting rather cozy in that salon too, weren't you?" Scarecrow added with a knowing grin, stuffing rustling as he leaned closer. "Never knew you had it in you, my friend!"
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Boq protested weakly, his joints creaking more loudly with embarrassment. "We were just t-talking."
"Oh ho!" Lion's laugh boomed through the corridor. "Is that what they're calling it these days? 'Just talking'?"
"Don't forget the part where you asked her for a w-w-walk," Scarecrow teased, mimicking Boq's stutter with playful affection. "Very smooth, by the way!"
"If you three don't mind," the guard's sharp voice cut through their banter, "Her Goodness is waiting. Perhaps you could save your... gossip... for a more appropriate time?"
Boq had never been more grateful for the guard's stern intervention, even as his tin cheeks seemed to heat with mortification. Still, he couldn't quite suppress the tiny spark of joy that flickered in his hollow chest at the memory of Ryn's smile, of her gentle acceptance of his mechanical quirks. Even his friends' merciless teasing couldn't completely dim that warm glow.
"Quiet in the ranks!" the guard barked as Lion opened his mouth for another comment. "And pick up the pace, if you please. Her Goodness doesn't like to be kept waiting."
They walked in silence for a moment before Scarecrow softly cleared his throat. "Actually, Tin Man, while we have a moment…" He glanced at the guard's back, then lowered his voice. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you. I'm…I'm leaving Oz."
Boq's joints locked mid-step with a harsh screech. "Wh-what? L-leaving? But…but why? You're now the most brilliant mind in all of Oz! The palace needs you, the people need you—"
"The people need to learn to think for themselves," Scarecrow said quietly, something in his voice suddenly striking Boq as oddly familiar. "And besides, there are…other matters. Things I need to set right." His painted features shifted into an expression Boq had never seen before – something almost princely in its determination.
"Other matters?" Boq's voice rose sharply. "What could be more important than your duties here? Than your friends?" His frame tensed, the metal creaking. "First Dorothy leaves, now you—"
"Keep your voice down," Lion rumbled softly, his tail coming to wind around Boq's wrist in a gesture that was intended to be reassuring. "Look, I know it's a shock, but…things are changing. Even I've got my paws full these days. What about helping the newly vocal Animals settle into city life? Did you know we're opening a school? Right here in the Emerald City?"
But Boq barely heard him, his focus fixed on Scarecrow. There was something in his friend's stance, in how he held himself... Something that tugged at memories from before the tin, before everything changed...
"You're not just leaving," Boq said slowly, his voice hollow. "There's something you're not telling me." His gaze lingered on his friend's painted features, catching something unfamiliar in his expression - something that tugged at distant memories but remained frustratingly out of reach.
Scarecrow met his gaze steadily, and for a moment, Boq saw past the painted burlap to something—someone—else. Someone he thought he'd known long ago, in a different life. "Tin Man, please understand," Scarecrow began, but his words were cut short by the guard's sharp voice.
"Gentlemen!" the guard's sharp voice cut through the tension. "Her Goodness is waiting! Whatever drama you're enacting can surely wait until after—"
"Y-you're right," Boq cut in, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "It can wait. It can all w-wait." He strode forward stiffly, pushing past his friends, trying to process this new betrayal even as his mind spun back to Ryn's gentle acceptance from earlier. Everything was changing too fast, spinning out of his control like a loose screw.
Behind him, he heard Lion murmuring something to Scarecrow about "giving him time" and "a lot to take in," but Boq kept walking, his joints creaking with each determined step. He had enough to worry about with Lady Glinda's summons while processing this sudden change.
They reached the ornate double doors to Lady Glinda's private study in the East Solar, their emerald surfaces etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and dance in the palace's enchanted light. The guard stepped forward, his gloved hand resting on the golden handle.
"Her Grace will speak with the Tin Man alone," he announced, shooting a pointed look at Lion and Scarecrow. His mustache bristled as he added, "I trust the two of you can find your way back to your…various duties, whatever those may be, without assistance?"
Boq didn't turn to look at his companions, though he could feel Scarecrow's painted eyes boring into his back. His fingers clinked together nervously as the guard opened the door, revealing a slice of the sunlight room beyond. The morning light caught something crystalline within, sending rainbow fractals dancing across the corridor walls.
"Her Goodness awaits," the guard prompted, gesturing for Boq to enter.
As he stepped through the doorway, Boq's mind whirled with everything that had happened since dawn – Ryn's smile in the salon's warm light, her gentle words about his tin hair, the promise of tomorrow's meeting now hanging uncertainly in the air. And beneath it all, Scarecrow's mysterious announcement of departure stirred up memories of others who had left Oz behind.
Boq paused at the threshold, his fingers gripping the doorframe. "Scarecrow," he said quietly, not turning around. "When were you planning to tell me? Really tell me?"
There was a soft rustling of straw. "After your meeting with Ryn," Scarecrow replied, his voice carrying that same strange, familiar quality. "I thought... I thought you deserved one perfect morning."
Boq's joints creaked as he nodded once, sharply, still facing forward. "Well then," he said, his hollow voice hoarse. "I suppose we both have our secrets to keep."
He did not dare let himself look back as the heavy doors closed behind him with a soft click that echoed through his hollow chest like the final tick of a clock, leaving him alone with whatever fate Glinda the Good Witch of the North had in store.