LSS: Before the Wave Breaks

But leaving the city didn't go as planned. They made it to the north gate within the hour, only to find the gate blocked by a noisy crowd of people, fleeing and cowering back from a scene playing out like a production.

Before they got close, James already knew what was happening.

He knew the feeling in the air. The fear, the dread. The pain, the uncertainty. This was a public display, and the air was electric because a mage hunter was exposing a mage for all to see.

They rode up just in time to see a hunter James recognized - more by name than his face - push a young man onto the ground. The hunter's reputation spoke for him. The man's body hit the dirt like a heap of bricks, and James knew the limpness in his frame as the telltale sign of lumshade. The victim was caught, their fate already sealed. To the crowd cowering in anticipation, the threat was neutralized.

Alexander Kingsman wiped his hands with a smug, confident smile befitting of a serial killer. A killer, getting paid for it, and taking far too much joy in the hunt.

But James couldn't condemn him any more than he did himself.

They both had blood on their hands. In vain, James was desperately trying to wash them clean. Therefore, it was agonizing to watch Alexander parade himself around the body and address the crowd, talking them down from their panic.

"Worry not," Alexander said as he whipped a large net. "This mage will do no more harm to you or your city. Please, go about your day. I'll take care of this."

Next to James, Shane's expression had twisted into something between horror and sickness. One hand rested on Shrimp-- who was sitting on his lap-- keeping him there, but it seemed more distracted than anything. The other hand was clutching Arden's reins, warm skin paled by the white around his knuckles.

He looked as though he wanted to storm forward and intervene and something was barely keeping him in the saddle.

Alexander wrapped the man in the net like a heap. When the hunter drug the man through the dirt, Jame's blood began to boil.

He wanted to step in, too.

But the same thing that held Shane back was the same thing that kept James from action: anything they tried right now would only make things worse. The mage's fate was already written, and there was nothing they could do or say, regardless of their positions, that could change that. If Alexander had caught the mage in a public performance, then he already had proof the victim was a mage.

There was nothing they could do.

Shane's jaw clenched as Alexander started to drag the mage past them. For a moment, something like rage flashed in his eyes. But where the rage ignited, heartbreak followed, lingering in Shane's eyes.

James watched as the mage slowly disappeared down the dusty road. As Alexander passed with the man, entangled in the net, James got a closer look, and his heart sunk even deeper.

He was hardly even a man. The mage looked more like a boy.

Sober silence filled the street. The stillness felt like it lasted ages, but still not long enough as the crowd that was once observing slowly began to chatter, and in moments, it was like nothing had happened. The city went about their day, and not a single soul followed after the person being taken to their death.

When James was a child, he'd thought this was normal behavior, because he'd never known anything different. Now, it felt surreal.

Any levity the morning had offered him was gone as reality was smeared on the canvas in front of him, too bright and bloody for him to look away.

He forced himself to speak.

"Shane."

Shane slowly tore his gaze away from the young mage to meet James's eyes. He didn't say anything, and James couldn't bring himself to either. He inclined his head towards the gate, clicking his tongue as a signal to Billy. Billy walked forward. Shane signaled for Arden to do the same with a gentle motion of the reins, and so he followed, but his fingers hadn't unclenched. Neither had his jaw.

In silence, they left the city. Their passage through the gate was uneventful, and the guards didn't even check them for papers: they were both recognized. They went out onto the main road, and pulled away into the forest, hidden from the traffic of travelers.

Shane was clearly still deep in thought, and James didn't want to interrupt - but the inner conflict was tangible in the air between them. James himself found it difficult to shake off the wad of torment that writhed any time another mage crossed his path.

"I know I've done little to earn it," he said, reluctantly breaking the silence after they'd rode several minutes out. "But if there's something on your mind, and it would help you..."

James watched Shane closely.

"I can listen," he said.

Shane pursed his lips, and for a moment, it was hard to tell whether he'd take him up on the offer or just remained silent. Then he spoke.

"Do you think there was family of his in that crowd?" he asked finally.

James looked back to the ground in front of them.

"Possibly," he said.

Sometimes family members would make a scene. Sometimes they were the ones who caused the scene. But these days, family members usually stood by. What were they to do, if the magic had been seen in public? There was no defense.

"I don't know what I wish for," Shane said quietly. "For them to find him missing later, only to get terrible news, or for them to have been there, and for him to have seen them doing nothing."

Both were awful, painful realities that happened all of the time. James nodded solemnly.

"But of course that hunter didn't think about any of that." Shane swallowed. "They don't stop to consider whether someone is loved, or who they'd be tearing apart by killing them. And they definitely don't consider how much love that person has given in return, and how much they'd be robbing the world of. It doesn't matter. The question I asked quite literally doesn't matter."

James's heart sunk. The Hawkings's stance was firm and public - but he hadn't thought that any of it had been personal until he heard the pain in Shane's voice. He knew he didn't deserve to know the story, but he could only imagine that, for Shane, there was a face he was imagining right now. Someone he knew personally.

"It should," James said quietly, staring off into the forest ahead of them.

He'd seem so many families torn apart. In the Moonlight Kingdom, public executions were a horror show, and he'd seen far too many parents, siblings, and otherwise witness their loved ones hung in the city square. The fractures made in their society were constant. The grief was unending.

And Shane was right. The guild didn't care about the value of a human life, or the love they shared and brought to the world. Not enough to change their practices, or pursue other options. Because now, the guild wasn't just a way to "protect" society. It was a way to control it.

That wasn't so easily given up. Especially when fear was so ingrained in their culture.

He wished he'd have done something. He wished he didn't have to keep up this stupid facade.

James glanced up at the trees overhead. They were off the path, riding a deer trail that wound through the thicker portion of forest outside the North Gate. As the sun travelled higher into the sky, the shadows cast by the branches overhead pulled back.

It was cooler, though, than the open streets of the city.

This was where they took the mages, then. Outside of the city, to die.

"Mage hunters," James said. "Of all the branches of law enforcement, they scare me the most."

"Same," Shane muttered. "There's a reason for that. No one gets drafted into it. The hunters like what they're doing."

"Or at the very least, they knowingly say yes," James said.

Shane nodded tightly.

"They're reckless," James added. "And they're allowed to be."

"Encouraged, almost," Shane said quietly. "They're happy to strike more fear in people's hearts."

"They have to," James said, just as quiet. "It's how they keep their power."

"If they didn't, would they really lose it?" Shane asked, with a hint of skepticism.

James looked over to Shane, his heart twinged with pain.

"Perhaps not," James admitted. "But it works regardless."

Shane's shoulders sank slightly.

"It does," he muttered.

James watched Shane for a moment, feeling the pain of Shane's helplessness like it were his own. It was clear that Shane longed to do something, but had no resources himself to bring about change. It was also entirely possible that Shane had tried to do something before, and failed.

Shane's mother was a voice among her peers, but James understood: it wasn't enough.

"You grew up... seeing a lot of it, I imagine," James said quietly. "Lettera is similar to the Moonlight Kingdom in that way."

"Worse, arguably," Shane said, flicking his gaze to the trees around them. "I've seen it, but I don't understand it. I don't know how we'll call ourselves a hospitable, welcoming nation one moment and then turn around and execute a child before we even know they'll be a mage one day. It's hypocritical."

James nodded, and the knot in his chest twisted tighter. He agreed, but it still hurt to say aloud.

"Yes," was all he managed to get out.

And as anticipated, the conversation died down between them, and all that was heard was the soft tapping of hooves as they continued forward at a steady, walking pace. Shrimp curled up tighter on Shane's lap as Shane absently stroked the cat's fur. He was still tense, but there was a different look on his face. Like maybe saying some of these things out loud helped in some way.

"How did you get around to thinking this way?" Shane asked softly.

The question stung, and James didn't know why.

There was something in his stream of thought that didn't make sense, even to himself. A week ago, he'd been dying to admit all of this to someone, anyone, for that matter, that he felt could be trusted enough with it. Now, it felt equally unreal and invasive, like he'd opened a door into the deepest parts of himself, and now the door was stuck open. He couldn't undo it, or take it back.

Shane was peeking in at something James had held closely for over a year, and there was no way he could know that Caspar was the only other person who knew.

He felt he hadn't had to explain it to Caspar, because Caspar knew him better. Caspar hadn't asked. He didn't have to.

Now, having to explain himself...

Why was it so daunting?

"Sorry," Shane said faintly, looking aside. "Never--"

"It didn't happen right away," he said quickly.

He hadn't meant to give Shane the impression he had no intention of answering. But he needed to count the cost.

He had to consider the consequences of this. This conversation.

"It took years," he went on, after a second of silence. "And... many losses."

Shane glanced his way again, his gaze softening.

"I envy those who are able to think freely for themselves without the instruction to do so," James continued, quieter. "But for me, it required the issue to touch my life personally."

And even still, it hadn't been enough. Not at first.

"It's amazing how much you can still do in the midst of deafening cognitive dissonance," he said, fainter.

Shane nodded slightly.

"It is," he said quietly. "It's better late than never, though. I'm not going to judge you on the when or how-- it matters more to me that you got here at all. Anyone who comes around to this takes their time and has different reasons."

James only shot Shane a brief glance, unable to hold his gaze. It was generous, of Shane, not to judge, but James didn't think he deserved that kind of provision.

"...Thanks," he said, swallowing thickly.

Maybe it was the heat, but his mouth felt dry, and his palms were slick with sweat against the leather strap of the bridle.

He felt guilty, saying any of this. He didn't deserve to confide in someone like Shane, and he certainly hadn't deserved any of the patience extended to him. Shane wanted some kind of explanation, and James was doing a poor job of it, and that made the guilt sting all the more.

He'd dumped so much into Shane's lap already. It felt wrong to offer more, and yet, it felt unfair not to.

"It was... confusing for me," James said, quietly. "It has been, for a long time."

He gripped the reins a little tighter, trying not to let Billy feel the tension too.

"When I was a child, my father died in the crossfire of a mage hunter and a mage," he said. "And I... didn't know what to do with that, for a long time. I wanted to blame the hunter for their recklessness, and the mage for using my father as a shield. At the end of the day, my anger was directed at the mage, only because everyone else said it should be."

Shane watched him, expression heavy with sadness, empathy-- and understanding.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "That's not a position any child should have to be in."

James dipped his head low, glancing off to the side. He felt uncomfortable under Shane's gaze.

"It's rather common," he said. "In one way or another."

Shane was quiet for a few moments.

"For what it's worth, you can be angry at that mage," he said. "But everyone else will get the reason wrong. They'll think he was bad just for being a mage. And it seems like so many people don't realize... the question of how bad or good someone is is completely independent of that. Having magic doesn't make anyone evil-- neither does it make them innocent in all the choices they make with it. It's just a tool, subject to the same human morality decisions as everything else."

Shane paused.

"I'm sorry that mage acted selfishly," he said, more quietly. "And I'm thankful you learned to think past him as a representative sample of everyone like him."

James finally turned to look up at Shane again, offering a small, somewhat forced smile. But he hoped it looked genuine, if sad.

"In my experience," James said. "People are more inclined to look past outward appearances when they desire the same treatment."

His smile faded, and he looked down at the ground again.

"...Or, they oscillate in the other direction," he said. "But. I'd rather offer others the same chance..."

But he couldn't finish that sentence. He pressed his lips into a small frown, pressing his legs on either side of the saddle just a tad. Billy sped up a little, moving ahead of Shane.

Shane's expression turned questioning for a moment, but he seemed to catch the memo, because he took his time in getting Arden to match the new pace.

"I would too," he said.

James felt a spike of panic when he realized Shane had easily deduced where his unfinished train of thought had intended to go, and, in feeling understood, he felt exposed.

His head shrunk between his shoulders, but he felt too... seen to say anything else, dare he expose himself any further.

What followed was a much, much longer silence that ought to have been comfortable, but now felt agonizing in light of this revelation. All James could do to alleviate the discomfort was try to enjoy the scene around them as a welcome escape from the boiling streets of the city. But even that was hard to focus on with Shane following beside him.

"I've lost people to the guild too," Shane said finally, and he wasn't looking at James for once. "Sometimes it doesn't actually help to have a target for your anger. Not if you don't know what to do with it."

James shot Shane a empathetic glance, but ended up setting his eyes ahead of them again.

"Yeah," he said with understanding. "It doesn't."

Jordan was hiding in his room again.

Shane understood. He'd be doing the same, if his obligations weren't forcing him out into the open day after day. The family couldn't find a time to schedule grief, and Jordan was the only one with the guts to cancel his commitments for it. Shane just wished it hadn't made him withdraw from the rest of them.

Still...

It had all been so heartless. They'd gotten their mail for the week, and they'd all crowded around his mother for her to translate the ripped-out Gallan newspaper clipping from an envelope with no return address. His ears were still ringing with the deafening silence that followed that moment, when he'd been praying his mother had misunderstood the words she'd just hollowly read out loud.

She hadn't. Raya was gone.

Shane swallowed as he stared at the door to Jordan's room. It was closed most days now. He hated whatever barrier was springing up between him and his brother, when Jordan needed family the most-- and when, frankly, Shane needed him too.

But he had to be the stronger one.

He took a deep breath, knocking on the door.

"Jordan?" he called softly.

No answer. But that wasn't entirely unusual now.

"I know you don't want company right now," Shane said faintly. "But... I don't think it's good for you to be alone right now. I don't want you drowning in your own thoughts."

Damn it, that was... that was such poor word choice.

"Please don't do that to yourself," Shane pleaded, softly and a little more desperate now. "Can I come in?"

Still silence. That was... Jordan should've said something by now. Even if it was a stubborn no.

"Jordan?" Shane asked uncertainly.

Nothing. His heart thumped louder.

"I'm coming in," he announced, slowly opening the door with plenty of warning.

He immediately felt the cold air hit him. The furnace was running, but Jordan's room was as cold as the winter outside. There was even wind blowing his way as he got the door fully open.

Baffled, Shane landed his gaze on the curtains that were fluttering around the open window.

He found himself dashing to it, looking down from it. A trail of footprints in snow led away from the Aspen, leading towards the street.

What?

"Dragons above, no," Shane whispered in panic, climbing through the window without another thought.

He wobbled a little when he landed on the ground from the one-story jump, but the snow cushioned his feet, just as it would've for Jordan. If he hadn't ran... and he hadn't left long ago... He could still catch up.

Thoughtlessly, Shane sprinted after the tracks, blinking against the snow blowing in his eyes.

He barely registered the buildings he passed as he dashed through the streets of Eagle Bell. Thankfully, it was very late, and no one was out. But it was also cold as hell and he hadn't grabbed a coat--

Shane's tunnel vision settled on a familiar figure at the end of the street.

"Jordan!" he whisper-hissed.

Jordan whipped around, his eyes wide with panic under the moonlight. His long hair was messily tucked behind the fur of the hood on his winter coat.

"Shane!" Jordan hissed back. "What are you doing?"

"Following you!" Shane whispered fiercely, quickly closing the distance. "What are you doing?"

Jordan was huffing like he'd been running too. Clouds of breath gathered around his nostrils.

"I'm-- I can't stay here," he said, his voice breaking.

Shane stared at him, feeling his heart race faster. It wasn't all from the exercise.

"What?" he asked under his breath. "What do you mean?"

"What if they find out who I am?" Jordan asked in a whisper. "What if-- what if they hurt you, too?"

"They won't," Shane insisted firmly, staring at him pleadingly.

"You don't know that!"

"We won't let it happen," Shane retorted.

"That's what Eve said!" Jordan said harsher, tears beginning to well in his eyes. He lifted up his hands and pointed them to the ground, fingers straight.

A cold knife sank into Shane's heart.

"And now-- now Raya's dead!" Jordan said, the brief flash of anger in his face fading as tears finally started streaming down his face.

"She was-- it was bad luck," Shane said faintly, his voice catching in his throat. "I know what Eve said. But I told Raya we'd keep you safe."

"I don't even know if Eve is okay!" Jordan said desperately. "We don't know what-- we only know about--"

But Jordan's voice choked up, and he quickly rubbed his face. When he pulled his hands away, he was forcing his expression into a hard frown.

"I should've gone with her," Jordan said in a whisper.

Shane's heart broke all over again along the same cracks Eve and Raya had caused.

"But then--" he said, before he choked on his words. He felt his eyes burning, the only heat he could feel in the frigid air.

But then I wouldn't have you. I wouldn't have anyone.

"Please," he whispered instead, sniffing. "Please don't go."

"I can't," Jordan said, tears still streaming down his stony expression. "I can't let it happen to you too."

"Jordan," Shane begged, raising his voice without meaning to. Every word was a struggle around the lump in his throat. "Just let me protect you!"

Jordan's lips began to tremble, and his face softened as he visibly fought back more tears. Pinching his eyes shut, Jordan's shoulders hunched forward and he held his hands as fists at his sides.

With a frustrated pump of his fist, he let out an angry grunt and stomped his foot in the snow.

What Jordan didn't seem aware of was the shelf of snow on the roof overhead. Shane saw it tremble with his movements. But before Shane could say a word, Jordan turned briskly with a wave of his arms like he was about to storm off.

Instead, he sent all of the snow on the roofttop sliding down in a loud, icy tumble to the ground.

On the other side of the mound that now separated them, Shane saw his brother freeze with fear. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder with bug eyes, realizing what he'd done on accident.

Shane could only stare, first in awe at the display of power. Then in abject horror.

"That... that could've been the wind," he whispered.

But he knew he was making that up.

A light turned on in a window across the street.

"Just stay calm," Shane said quietly. "Stay... calm."

But his heart was fluttering at a million miles per hour with panic. His hands were shaking.

On the second story of the home across from them, Shane saw a man run out in his night cap and gown, ringing a bronze bell on his porch.

The sound rapidly woke up the whole town for blocks. Lights were glowing in almost every window within seconds.

And if Shane thought anything, it was No. Nononononono.

Breaking from his frozen stare, Jordan began to run.

Shane couldn't think to say anything more. There was no point. He ran after his brother, crashing through the pile of snow between them.

Every fear for Jordan that he'd ever had was alive and frantic in his head, bursting to the surface like bubbles from boiling water, and he couldn't squash them or the voice screaming that this was all hopeless now. They'd been seen. People knew their faces. And worst of all, they were running in the dead of winter, where every step they took made a more complete trail for the guild to follow.

But what else was there to do? What else besides following his brother and ignoring that his heart was tearing apart from fear and pain?

Then something closed around his foot. Both feet.

Shane let out a sharp yelp of helpless surprise as he tripped forward, holding out his hands to catch himself. His palms sank deep into the snow. He didn't believe what he was seeing when he watched the snow around his arms suddenly solidify and crystallize into ice, encasing him up to the shoulder.

Jordan had trapped him.

"Jordan!" he shouted, looking up and struggling helplessly to get loose.

Jordan glanced over his shoudler for only a moment, but all Shane saw was his tearful, wide-eyed panic. Jordan ran faster.

"Jordan!"

Shane didn't care how bad his voice sounded-- shrill with terror, scratchy with panic, strangled with hurt. He just wanted to follow. He just didn't want to lose--

"There!"

A half-dozen mage hunters, hastily dressed in their guild uniforms, sped past him on foot. Shane ducked his head into the snow on instinct, breathing heavily. When he looked up, they were running to the end of the street.

Jordan was gone. He'd left nothing but footprints.

A sob shook Shane's chest.

He'd let Raya down. He was alone, shivering in the night, with the tears freezing to his face, and there was nothing to show for it. They were going to catch Jordan.

He was going to lose his last friend in the only way worse than them leaving by choice.

He closed his eyes against the burning cold, as more shudders and quiet sobs wracked through him. The sounds of the chase and the turmoil of the curious bystanders had gone ahead, dying out in the quiet of this street. All that was left was him and his failure.

Shane didn't know how long he was there. All he knew was it was over too quickly.

He didn't open his eyes or move at all when he heard the shout of "Look!", but he did hear the crunch of snow getting louder as people ran his way. Hands started patting at the ice keeping him in place.

"My gods, look what he did to him," a woman's voice said in sad pity.

"Do you think he has frostbite?" a man's voice asked worriedly.

"I don't see any, but there's always hypothermia," a second woman said. "He's got no coat."

"Clara, have you still got that hammer?" the first woman asked.

Shane felt the force of a blow to the ice around his right arm. The second hammer swing smashed it, cracking apart around his arm with no damage done to him. He curled and uncurled his fingers, feeling numb in more ways than one, as the second woman-- Clara-- moved around to break the rest of the ice.

"Look, he's still awake," the first woman exclaimed.

Warm gloved hands were around Shane's shoulders, helping him to sit up. Someone else threw a wool scarf around him. He pulled it around him, struggling not to produce any new tears.

"You okay there, son?" the man asked concernedly, peering at him with gentleness in his eyes. "Very brave of you to run after that one."

Shane knew he should thank these three strangers. But his mind only knew how to say one thing.

"What happened to him?" he whispered, hearing his words tremble.

"Don't worry," the man said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "They managed to catch him. Last we all saw, he was floating in the river. He can't hurt you anymore."

As every muscle in Shane's body seized, trembling with something he could not name, Clara moved in front of him to meet his gaze. Her eyes were so full of warmth and kindness that it made him sick.

"It's safe now," she said softly.

But that was no comfort.

Shane couldn't scream out loud, so he felt a silent scream building in his head, ringing higher and higher in his ears until he felt like he had no grip on reality outside of that endless scream.

If everything got quiet enough, Shane thought he could still hear it now.

"Well, everything you've heard about Terran hospitality is true, I'd wager," Shane's father said proudly, handing Kirk a wine glass. "You could light the coffee table before us on fire and I'd be obligated to make it the stove for your next meal."

Kirk barked a laugh, taking the glass as he took a seat on the couch. "Keep me from the matches, then!" he said. "Who would want to destroy such a nice table? Is this real mahogany?"

"Oh, yes," Shane's mother said, taking one of the armchairs with a wide smile. "Ray's got an eye for interior design."

"I can tell," Kirk said, looking about the living room with a more attentive sweep of his eyes. "It's very homey in here."

Shane grinned softly, sitting down next to him and setting his own glass on the coffee table. "No offense to your own manor, but this has some of what that's missing," he joked.

"What, good memories outside of work conversations?" Kirk said with a smirk, looking over to Shane. "I think no one would argue with you on that."

Shane let out a laugh, crossing his legs to sit more comfortably. "That too."

"Why, what's the manor look like?" Shane's father asked curiously, looking up from passing over his mother's glass. "Do they need to hire me for my services?"

"It's not a lack of decoration," Kirk said, taking a brief sip of wine. "It's more that it feels like an office, dressed up like a home."

"You should stop there. I can see he wants to go over and replace all your chairs," Shane said.

His father paused. "Am I that obvious?"

"Chairs specifically," Kirk hummed with amusement.

"They're an important feature in making a space cozier," Shane's father agreed. "See, you wouldn't feel quite as welcomed if we were all sitting on the floor."

Shane shrugged, smiling. "See, told you so."

"I won't deny the pleasure of a good, cushioned, seat," Kirk admitted. "And I'm sure my appreciation for said seats will only increase as I get older."

"Can confirm," Shane's father said, huffing a little as he took the other armchair and stretched a leg out to bump his mother's foot playfully. "I'm getting old over here."

"No, you are not," Shane scoffed.

"Hmm." His father looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, swirling his glass of wine. "You know what sounds good right now? Knee surgery and senior discounts."

Kirk looked over to Shane with a wince, but a smile in his eyes.

"So soon?" Kirk asked.

"What can I say," Shane's father sighed. "Life flies by so fast. I should retire with all the wisdom I've accrued."

Shane's mother shot Kirk an amused look. "As you can see, he's easily encouraged."

"And not so easily discouraged," Kirk said. "Probably not a bad thing, overall."

"As dramatic as he gets, it's served him well," Shane said, an affectionate smile warming his face.

"I can tell," Kirk said, glancing over at Shane's mom. She grinned gently as if catching his meaning.

"Well, I'm not sure I can actually refurnish your temporary residence," Shane's father said, with a shake of his head and click of his tongue. "But rest assured that I can be consulted for all your decoration needs and emergencies as they arise." He chuckled. "Not that I know what a decoration emergency would even be like. Maybe a case of really hideous wallpaper?"

"That's definitely a cause for emergency," Kirk said. "But I think it's more of a lack of personalization. You know, something that actually has sentiment attatched to it, instead of just being there to fill space."

Shane met his eyes with a bright smile.

"I might have something for that," he said. "But I'm saving it for the end."

Kirk turned to Shane with a bright curiosity in his eyes.

"Really?" he asked. "A surprise. I'll wager you'll be stubborn enough not to reveal it prematurely."

"This is all you get," Shane said, now grinning. "Sorry. I've already said more than I planned to."

"Well, if you're looking for a change of subject, I'll do you a favor," Kirk said smoothly. "On the subject of meaningful decor."

Kirk pointed at the shelf across the room. It held many things, but somehow, a cold feeling crept over Shane as he got the realization that he thought he knew which decoration had caught Kirk's eye.

"I noticed those stones from the day I came here, and I'm curious if they have a story to them," he said. "It looks like a collection of some sort?"

Shane fixed his gaze on Jordan's box, feeling a tightness in his chest. In his peripheral vision, he thought he saw his parents exchanging a look.

It was so strange for Jordan to come up independently twice in the same day. The quiet hauntings rarely got spoken aloud.

"Oh, yeah," he said, forcing himself to sound as casual as he could. He didn't think it was working. "Those are probably one of the most meaningful things in this house. They were--" He breathed in. "They were my brother's."

The levity in Kirk's manner faded, and a sullen realization mixed with confusion and concern settled on his face.

"Oh," he said softly. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize -- I just stumbled over something painful, didn't I?"

"You're okay," Shane said softly, looking at him with sad apology. "I mean, it is that way, but--"

He chanced a glance at his parents. His father's optimism had suddenly dissipated, replaced by a heavy heartache in his eyes. Only talk of Jordan, Eve, or Raya could cause that. His mother remained steadier-- she always did-- but he saw how her face had saddened too.

"--you wouldn't have known," he finished.

His mother looked back at Kirk with a somber gentleness, clearly trying to find a way to say what he'd already guessed in the easiest way possible.

"Most people don't talk about Jordan anymore," she started, more evenly than Shane had spoken, but there was no missing the sadness of her own. "I'm not surprised that the news didn't reach you. We adopted him around seven years back and had him in our family for four wonderful years. He was like ours from the day we met him long before that, though." She paused, shaking her head as if to clear it. "He was killed three winters ago. He's no longer with us, but we still have much left from him. Those are the rocks that he collected from the beaches on Sugar Bay-- and there's even some drawings of his from when he was seven over in the office." She smiled sadly. "He was less enthused about us keeping those. But they were sweet."

Kirk met Shane's mother's eyes with deep compassion.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Kirk said sincerely. "It sounds like he was a gift to all of you."

"He was," Shane's mother said, her sorrowful smile flickering as her eyes glistened. "We'll always be grateful for what time we had."

Shane turned more directly to Kirk, his heart clenching.

This couldn't be easy. This would never be easy. He'd just been starting to break out of the worst of it and he wasn't going to let himself sink back into it again, but it still hurt more than it should. Or maybe it hurt exactly the right amount and he was just getting what he deserved.

"The reason you probably haven't heard of him being in our family was because he was a mage," he said carefully. "It started getting treated as something shameful. Or..."

He shrugged weakly, barely able to meet Kirk's gaze anymore.

"Or people would be sorry and be quiet out of pity," he said. "Not sorry for his death. Sorry that we were 'fooled' into letting him in."

Kirk's expression softened with empathy.

"That's awful," he said. "He was family. I'm so sorry your loss was undermined by comments like that. However well-meaning they were, that kind of ignorance is so destructive. I can see so clearly that you loved Jordan like he was one of your own. I'm sure he felt the same about you."

Yeah. Maybe he had. But Shane's last interaction with him was and always would be Jordan saying he should've left already.

"Yeah," Shane said faintly. "I think you're the first person outside the family to say his name in ages."

"It's not fair that speaking of him is considered shameful," Kirk said gently. "I wish you could remember him freely, without that hanging over you. I can only imagine how it deepens the pain of grief, to not be able to grieve openly and honestly."

Not fair. He'd actually said that.

Shane paused, searching Kirk's face with hope in his eyes. Kirk didn't look away, or flinch under the searching. He met Shane's eyes with genuine kindness, offering a small, sad smile.

"I know that this is all deeply personal to you," Kirk went on softly. "And I do not want to diminish your pain for a second with more words than are necessary, but I sincerely want you to know that, at the very least, by the war's end, my entire paradigm has changed."

Kirk looked to Gwen and Ray.

"We need more people like you in the world," Kirk said. "Who are able and willing to see the person behind the magic. There's been far too much suffering caused by everything the guild is built upon, and it breaks my heart that it's wounded your family."

The tension in Shane's chest suddenly eased. He felt himself taking a deep breath, filling his lungs again, and he could've sworn his heart went from pounding in his ears to steadying out its beating into something more relaxed. More reassured.

It was really incredible, he thought, when the thing you've been hoping for but not expecting got said out loud.

He looked at Kirk with quiet gratitude and overwhelming relief, finding it in him to return the sad smile.

"Thank you," he said softly. "That's... you don't even know how meaningful that is to hear."

"I'm only sorry you don't hear it more often," Kirk said.

Shane did wish that wasn't the case. But right now, this moment made up for every bit of scorn or hostility that had ever been thrown his way.

"That is exceptionally brave of you, Kirk," his father started to say.

Shane glanced his way again. He often went unnaturally silent and somber in these times-- even now his voice was quieter and more fragile than normal-- but he looked at Kirk with sincere appreciation and even some pride despite the cloud of grief hanging over him.

"It's truly hard to relearn all that you've been told," Shane's father went on. "We need people like you, too, who are willing to listen to their consciences and hearts because they feel something is wrong. Nothing can change if we don't change, and hearing you say this truly gives me hope."

Kirk offered Shane's father a sad, faint smile.

"Then we give hope to each other," he said warmly.

Shane's father returned the smile, and Shane could see the hope that they were talking about in his eyes. He could feel it swelling in his own heart.

"I think we do," Shane's mother said, managing the sad but sincere smile as well. "I hope it hasn't put you in any bad situations since your beliefs changed. It's a rather lonely ideology."

Kirk took in a deep breath, looking away with a fading smile.

"If I'm being honest," he said. "I have yet to be transparent about where I stand with my peers and coworkers altogether."

Shane's mother nodded understandingly.

"You don't have to be," she said gently. "It's more important that you're safe. If that means you have to take your time, ease into it selectively, or not declare it at all-- all of that is okay. You don't have to stand on any sort of front lines to make a difference. Being who you are and believing what you believe is already incredibly significant."

Kirk inclined his head in understanding, but there was a flicker of guilt in his features. Shane had seen that same look once before, when he implicated the cost that came with alchemy, but now it was unshielded.

"Thank you, Gwen," he said. "I really appreciate your kindness."

"I really appreciate yours," Shane's mother said, offering a gentle smile. "We all do. If this ever weighs on you, or you need some kind of help, or just ever need to talk..."

She inclined her head, first to his father, then to Shane.

"...you have a safe place to do so," she finished.

"I know it may not feel like much," Kirk said. "But you've already helped me immensely in more ways than one." He turned his gaze from Shane's mother to Shane with a familiar fondness. "It's been refreshing to be in your company. I haven't had an opportunity to be honest like this in quite some time."

Shane truly smiled. It was a soft smile, and not all that wide, but it held the warmth that was stirring in his heart.

"I think I speak for us all when I say it's been a breath of fresh air for us too," he said. "Especially for myself. You brought the hopes I had true."

Kirk smiled again, small, but heartfelt.

"Then I'm thankful for my former blunder," he said. "This is a conversation I'm happy we stumbled into."

"Me too," Shane said, smiling a touch wider. "Me too."

Hopefully, it would've made Jordan happy, too.



They talked for at least another hour, finishing the bottle of wine between the four of them. Surprisingly, the levity came back-- or maybe it was because they'd cleared the air so well that they could find lightheartedness a second time. Shane's heart somehow felt more full than when they started as Kirk exchanged warm goodbyes and goodnights with his parents, who left them to have their own private farewells.

But there was one thing left to happen before that.

As the creaks of his parents taking the staircase upstairs faded, Shane looked back at Kirk with a bright smile.

"I haven't forgotten your surprise," he said with a laugh.

"Neither have I," Kirk said with a touch of playful excitement. "You've kept me waiting this long."

Shane grinned softly. "Right this way, then."

He led him back toward the entryway, where he'd placed a red paper gift bag. White tissue paper was stuffed over the top, hiding the gift from view. He picked it up, holding it out for Kirk.

"This is for you," he said, a little shyly.

Kirk's face lit up with joy as his smile spread across his face. He pulled the paper aside, carefully lifting the vase and its flowers out of the bag.

Shane had gotten the flowers fresh the day before. The whites and purples of the flowers-- calla lilies, violets, white cameillas, daisies, lavender roses, and purple clematis-- made a cohesive, matching arrangement, and contrasted nicely with the red of the banded onyx vase. He felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest as Kirk looked it over.

"I went to the market and wanted to get you something, but I wasn't sure what you would like," he started softly. "I-- I kind of guessed. I hope it's all okay."

He would've kept rambling nervously, but Kirk looked back at him, still smiling, and that banished it all from his mind.

"Shane," Kirk said warmly. "Thank you."

He quickly pulled Shane into a tight side hug, leaving the flowers free from crushing.

"I love it. These are beautiful," he said. "Purple is my favorite color. I will treasure this."

Not for the first time today, Shane felt crushed by a wave of relief. A giddy smile came to his face as he hugged Kirk back with one arm.

"Really?" he asked, excitement swelling in his voice. "I'm so glad you like them."

"I'm going to have to ask Hellen how she presses her flowers," Kirk said, pulling away. "So I can preserve some of these."

He reached out, gently taking the bouquet from Shane's hands with his smile shining brighter than before.

Shane grinned wide, meeting his eyes with excitement. He hadn't even thought of that.

"That sounds great," he said. "The next ones will be more purple."

Kirk chuckled. "Speaking of next ones," he said smoothly. "I was thinking I'd love to have you as my date to the masquerade at the end of the week, if you'll have me again."

It was somehow possible for Shane to smile even wider at that.

"I'd love nothing more," he said with a laugh.

"Perfect," Kirk said brightly. "I'll see you thirty minutes before it starts, then. We continue our tradition of walking together. Three times is no longer a coincidence, it's a pattern."

"I'll be there," Shane promised, reaching for Kirk's free hand to squeeze gently. "Who am I to deny tradition?"

Kirk squeezed Shane's hand back in return. "You know, it's Terran tradition," he said. "To never leave a home with a gift without giving one in return."

Smiling, Shane raised his eyebrows playfully as he met his gaze.

"That it is," he said. "You sound as though you already have something in mind."

"I had a surprise for you, too," Kirk said, his eyes softening as his eyes flicked down to Shane's lips, then back up to his eyes. "So, here's my thank you."

Letting go of Shane's hand, Kirk reached up to gently cup the side of Shane's face. Shane felt his heartbeat quicken, some color flushing to his face as he smiled softly. Shyly and slowly, he lifted his own hand to Kirk's face, cupping his cheek and jaw tenderly.

It all felt right. He knew when it didn't feel right, and this wasn't that. He hadn't known what it would look like when it would feel right, but gods, he felt so sure that this was it now.

"May I?" Kirk asked softly, slowly leaning closer.

Shane leaned in too, closing the distance until their noses brushed.

"Please do," he whispered back.

Kirk closed the gap. Their lips met in a soft but heartfelt kiss, and Shane closed his eyes as a feeling of warm peace settled in his chest. It wasn't a hungry kiss. Neither was it lacking any depth of feeling to it. Just a sweet, gentle, lovely moment of bliss where all he could think about for these few slowed-down seconds was Kirk and the perfect feeling of his lips on his own.

It was more than right. It was a truth he'd forgotten he'd been searching for-- that maybe, just maybe, he got to have something like this.

Really, Caspar only wanted a reason to be near the water. And, by the gods, were the trees they'd set up under an actual divine blessing.

The fishing tournament was open to anyone. Ruddlan resident or otherwise. So long as everyone had a pole, or the money to purchase or rent one from the vendors placed conveniently nearby, then they had all they needed to register.

Since he was technically on a work trip, and hadn't even been on a boat for months before it, he didn't have his own pole and tacklebox at the ready. But, since his good friend Dante was on a family trip, fresh off the coasts of the Isles, he had a rod and a spare. Which was both a splendid way to finally meet up again for the first time in years, and save him a bit on cash. Because. He could pay well enough for a rod, but it was still a lot for just a day's use.

By the grace of the dragons and the trees' shade that they provided, Caspar had the energy to stand for the duration of the competition. Maybe it was in his head, but he felt he cast better standing. He was tempted to take off his shoes and wade in a bit too, if only to cool down further, but he wasn't sure if that was against rules? His strongest bit of evidence being, he didn't see anyone else doing it.

Caspar had been waiting for a bite on the line for some time when someone came up to him. It was a young woman, approaching with her hands held behind her back as she watched him curiously.

He saw her eyes flick to the reel in his hands, and then she drew closer, flashing a friendly smile. He briefly glanced down too, didn't find anything, then offered her an awkward smile in turn.

"I think I recognize you," she said. "You're the cabby that's been driving the King's Hand around town, aren't you?"

Caspar blinked, then nodded in confirmation. "I'm surprised you'd noticed."

"I like to keep tabs on things in the city," the woman said. "I've been helping on the administrative side, running this week's competitions for the festival. The name's Freya. What's yours?"

Oh, wow. That sounded very important. He wracked his brain for any previous mentions from any of the kiddos, or festival announcements, of Freya the coordinator.

Adjusting his grip on the rod, he held out a hand to shake with a warmer grin. "Caspar Calderson. Good to meet you, Miss Freya."

Freya met his hand with a firm shake, letting it linger for a second.

"You as well," she said. "But you can drop the 'miss.' Just Freya is fine. We're not that far apart in age by my estimation."

Caspar faltered for a second, then offered an apologetic, "I don't mean to offend, Miss--" He inclined his head. "Just Freya."

"I'm not offended," Freya said with a smile, lifting a hand. "Flattered, actually. Don't worry about it."

She tilted her head, glancing at his hand again. Was his grip wrong? Did she wish to fish as well? Could she not, as event coordinator?

"So, Caspar," she said. "Have you been to Ruddlan before?"

He glanced back out to his line. "No, ma'am. First time."

"It's good to see you participating in the tourney, but are you getting to explore the city at all?" she asked. "Ruddlan has a lot to offer."

Caspar nodded again in answer. "It's been nice. Warm..." He squinted up at the sun through the leaves overhead. "...very warm welcome."

Freya chuffed in amusement. "I'm sure the summers here are deadly to someone accustomed to winters of the Moonlight Kingdom."

He huffed a laugh too with another nod. "You always been in Ruddlan?" he asked, turning a curious glance her way.

"All my life," she said. "But I've always dreamed of going down south. I've heard it's beautiful down there. I've never seen snow before."

"Wow," he said softly, trying to imagine a lifetime in this heat. "You should go sometime, then. Plenty of snow to go around, for sure."

"So I hear," she hummed.

He watched his line bob for a quiet beat. This was usually the part where people said their friendly farewells.

"My office is next door to the estates," Freya said smoothly after a moment. "You'd have passed the building on your way out. It's across from the militia headquarters."

He could picture it, and mentally circled the building on the map in his head. Then wondered why that would be necessary to know.

"If you'd like a local to show you around the city," Freya went on. "I'd be happy to show you around, if you can get some time away from the kids you unofficially oversee."

Caspar stared blankly at the river now. The King's Hand drew a lot of attention, but not the cabby driving them around. Did she live near the Estates too?

She looked up at him with a knowing smirk. "If you're interested," she said with a tone communicating a different kind of interest. "Stop by."

Oh.

Oh... Huh. He'd heard that tone probably only a few times before, but...

He hoped the heat in his face could pass off for desert heat. Glancing sideways, he counted the distance between himself and Dante. Too far to subtly call for help.

Freya raised her brows, smiling in expectation.

"Well," he started, looking down at his hands-- only just realizing she was checking for any signs of his... status, earlier. "That's, uhm. You're very generous to offer..."

But what... exactly are you offering? he nervously thought. But, obviously, he couldn't say that.

"Yes, quite generous," Freya said teasingly. "Should I be more direct?"

"If you weren't being direct before," he hesitantly answered, trying to play into his former obliviousness, "then... please."

"How about this, then," Freya said, switching her weight to one hip. "Could I take you out to drinks some--"

"Fuck off, old man!" someone yelled almost right behind them. "I found this spot first!"

Straightening, Caspar twisted around to see if he was the old man in question-- both resigned but also more than happy to give up the spot, should it in fact be a confrontation. But the shouting rascal was offering a very rude gesture to a different man--

Oh, actually, Caspar thought he recognized that man.

Not wanting to, but needing to face her for the sake of giving her an honest reply, Caspar found the spot in the grass where Freya once stood, empty. He scanned the grassy incline behind him for where she might have gone. And it felt terrible to compare, but the sinking feeling wasn't unlike when someone tried smacking a spider, missed entirely, and then didn't know where it went after.

"Didn't you read the damn rules? No kids allowed. Get outta here," the supposed old man boomed back, suddenly standing in the spot that Freya once stood when Caspar looked back. He readied his pole, not giving Caspar nor the yelling person behind them a glance back.

"Dude, I'm a grown-ass woman!"

"Pipe down, little girl," the man grumbled, setting up his bait. "Let the old men fish."

Said woman refused. Hopping past both of them, she trudged her way out into the river with a net rather than a rod. Both validating Caspar's earlier instinct to wade out, but also resigning them all to a much longer wait for a first bite.

"Hmph!" The man smirked, incessantly elbowing Caspar against his side. "Get a load of this novice."

He mustered a fleeting grin. "It's just... a different approach," he offered.

"The hell she trying to catch? Tiny shrimp?" the familiar beefy man sneered.

"Maybe I'll catch enough shrimp to make a full fish-length!" the young woman shot back over her shoulder. "Then we'll see who has the last laugh."

The familiar man bellowed a hearty laugh, finally readying his rod. With a grunt, he threw the line far into the distance, holding the rod steady between both hands.

"What are you gonna do, shrimp girl?" he asked. "Braid them together?"

"Braiding is a fucking survival skill," she answered, grinning as she threw another indecent gesture his way.

Caspar was really trying his best not to stare at the man. So he just cast the occasional side glance, trying to place where he'd seen that face in particular. He always remembered faces well. And this had to have been so recent, too, they only just got here a little under two weeks ago.

Or maybe that wasn't here?

From here on out, he tuned out their back and forth. Most of which was vulgarities and insults that made little sense. It was a much more welcome dialogue than what happened with Mi-- Just Freya.

Maybe he wasn't being as subtle as he'd hoped, because his third furtive glance earned him the kind of smile that made him nervous.

"Like what you see, sandy?" the man asked with a smirk, looking him up and down.

Face quickly burning up again and skin nearly crawling under the man's briefly roaming gaze, Caspar tilted the brim of his down to momentarily block the man from view. Wishing the man would just... frown again, rather than. This.

Hm. That was what was familiar. His frown.

"Yo, not in front of my fish!" the young woman objected.

The man scowled and sharply turned away to bark back, "Hmph! What fish?"

M'kay, right there, though. How did Caspar know that expression of open disdain?

"The fish I'm going to catch in a minute." She turned, hands set on her hips with a deep frown of her own. "If you'd quit fucking yelling at me the whole time!"

The fishing man tsked and shook his head with disapproval. "Damn youth these days. So foul-mouthed and rebellious. They don't know an ounce of discipline."

"Well, maybe we shouldn't generalize," Caspar instinctively replied before he could give it any thought. Because there were kids like this woman, sure, and also his kids who were so courteous and disciplined. He felt he had to defend them, if no one else.

"You know what she needs?" the man went on anyways. "Time in the military." He slapped a hand on his shoulder, aggressively patting it twice. "Really would put things into perspective for her. Only vets could understand."

Caspar held his tongue there. Service to someone's country never guaranteed a perspective change for the better. Maybe it increased the chances for it, but he knew people who stayed more or less the same, or even worsened, through that kind of experience.

It was a good way for anybody to get shell shock, though.

"What's your name, sandy?" the man asked during the brief lull that followed.

"Caspar," he hummed in answer, attention fixed on his line to keep from giving the man his own look of displeasure. "Yours?"

"Hendrik," he gruffed out. "You served too? I can tell. You can always tell these days. It's all in the posture."

Well, shoot. He couldn't help his posture at this point, either. Bound by honesty and held accountable by just the way he stood apparently, Caspar nodded. "Where'd you serve, then, sir?"

"The Isles," Hendrik answered proudly, a grin tugging his lips. He stood up straighter with a longing look over the river, holding the rod steady. "Specifically the sea-fearing division. Had mighty good times with the boys back in the day."

Oh, joy. Another commonality.

"And you?" Hendrik asked.

This whole day seemed to be a game of blessings in disguise and outright tests of his character. Caspar was saved from having to divulge anything more to this man by first a subtle tug on his line, then a full-on battle to reel in an honest-to-goodness catch.

Veyr soon, he found himself in possession of possibly the largest salmon he'd ever seen.

The judges meandering along the banks of the river had made their way around when they caught wind of a kerfuffle. One immediately marched over with a measuring tape, yelling for the others to come see. One moment, it was only Hendrik next to Caspar, and the next, a small crowd of judges were bouncing with glee, exclaiming that this was indeed a very big fish. Stiffly holding it aloft, Caspar tried his best not to shrink away from the sudden bustle.

"Hmph! This competition is rigged since we're by a river," was the last statement Caspar heard from Hendrik before being surrounded by judges bestowing him congratulations and awards.

A trumpet fanfare bellowed in the near distance, though that felt a bit much, sounding the winner and end of competition. He remembered hearing Dante extending congratulations too. But his voice was overlayed with everyone else's, so he just couldn't recall when he did.

In the midst of all of the celebration, a figure planted themselves at his left shoulder. They'd suddenly materialized with hardly any noticeable movement, which Caspar found startling. Alarming, even. How were so many people sneaking up on him within only several hours?

Jumping a bit as he turned to see, it was a woman, wearing a worn down cowboy hat, with a red bandana around her neck, tucked just below her chin. She looked a bit out of place, like she'd stepped out of a children's storybook as a horse-wrangler.

"Best be careful," the woman said over the noise. "If you catch too many fish, you might become one."

"I'm." Caspar blinked in open confusion. "Thank you?"

"Don't be thankful," she said. "Be careful."

He nodded slowly. "Oh. Well. Thank you for the advice, anyway."

"Only means something if you remember it," she said.

Can't argue that logic.

And, without any further explanation, she walked off into the crowd without looking back. Very mysterious-like. He would've been in awe had her words not confounded him by so much.

Caspar's favorite part of the festival market so far had to have been the artisans' street, hands down. He wasn't a local, of course, so navigating was still 50/50-- especially since the sea of market booths was an ever-changing landscape. But he did learn to recognize by now some of the crafts and tradesmen by the logos painted on the fronts of their stalls or on signs hanging out over the bustling crowd to catch the eyes of the right clientele, and could use them as sorts of landmarks by the day.

His good friend Dante, and Dante's partner Chance, had carved out time to meet at the market. This was the only reason why Caspar happily attended a busy city scene he would've otherwise hidden from.

Across the street, the two and Chance's sister, Faith, had stopped by a booth to peruse a collection of polished rocks that caught Chance's eye.

While he waited, Caspar lingered closeby, next to a shaded stall run by a woodworker. Spread across her table were mostly decorative pieces, for tourists. So lots of intricately carved scenes on the sides of bowls, animal figurines, and delicately chiseled geometry on the lids of an array of small boxes. Some painted in a limited color palette, others lacquered in either light or dark finishes.

Caspar felt drawn to one of her more straightforward pieces: a walnut box without any carved designs, aside from her signature on the inside of the hinged lid, and the waves of darker grains turned glossy with a deep, natural stain. The exterior of the lid wasn't perfectly smooth. Holding it up to view from the side, it kind of looked like the dunes they passed on their way through the open desert. Or an ocean.

The design was made that much more intentional, though, when you looked at the near-perfect edges of the body beneath, and the expert dovetail joining at the corners.

Did he have any practical purpose for this box? Not really. It could fit in the palm of his hand, and he didn't really own anything that small. But, that just meant it could fit in his jacket pocket all the easier, so he gave the woodworker his support and sincere compliments on her craftmanship, then ducked out into the sunny street to meet his friend half-way.

"Heading out?" Caspar asked, nodding at Chance and her sister as they disappeared into the shopping crowd.

"They're off on a muffin quest. I've learned not to get between them and their breakfast foods," Dante answered.

Caspar raised both brows curiously. "The... hard way, or just deduction?"

Dante looked amused. "I once tried to plan something in the morning, skipping breakfast for saving time but planning a large lunch afterwards. I'll only make that mistake once."

"Oh my goodness," Caspar murmured in amazement.

"I'm lucky to be forgiven," Dante joked. "All's well now, though, and the lesson is learned."

Caspar huffed a laugh through his nose. He made the family sound like a pod of hungry kraken. He made note, anyway, that efficiency was not worth sacrificing on food.

"You've always been a fast learner," Caspar felt compelled to say, lighthearted yet sincere. "Anything else you picked up on the way since we last, truly talked?"

Dante grinned faintly at the compliment. "A couple lessons in fatherhood," he said warmly. "It seems there's just as much learning there as there is teaching."

Something in the phrasing made Caspar's heart quietly ache. Joy for his friend was definitely mixed in there. But so was the knowing that they both missed their opportunity to really walk alongside each other as they both stepped into fatherhood.

He held onto the joy of it for now, and warmly asked, "And how has the teaching part been going?"

Dante chuckled yet.

"Some parts are easier than others," he said, still with amusement. "It's pretty easy to tell Preston that he can't make that spider his pet because we don't know if it's dangerous or not. Although we're still having trouble convincing Nina that viciously rubbing roses on her hair won't turn it pink. She wants to dye it, and Chance and I think it's a little early for that, but she will stop at nothing to try anyway."

Caspar huffed in amusement. That sounded about right. "How old are they again?"

"Nina is six, and Preston is four," Dante said, smiling proudly. "But they grow up fast."

"They really do," Caspar agreed softly with a different kind of pang in his chest-- something more like remorse. Wishing the circumstances were more forgiving, because he still hadn't been able to even meet the kiddos.

He realized he'd let a short silence lapse between them.

"So, is your new job as cushy as you hoped?" Dante asked warmly. "Anything like an early retirement?"

"Ah, no," Caspar answered with a faint laugh, "not like retirement. It is usually slower, though, and still uses some--"

He abruptly stopped, letting a gaggle of little ones cut in front of them.

"...navigating," he finished.

"That much seems nice," Dante said pleasantly. "A slice of island life, even if slight."

Sort of.

"I guess it is, uhm." Caspar hummed in thought. "Cushier, yeah."

More formal settings, where people had to look and talk nice.

The carts and vendors around them gradually changed from hanging textiles and painted trinkets to grilled meats and fresh produce. There were even some potted plants and succulents on sale here and there, so there was a lot more green around them. Green was a welcome sight in a city that was overwhelmingly orange and dry.

"Well, how 'bout you?" Caspar asked, turning his attention back to Dante. "Should I be calling you captain still?"

Dante chuckled. "Still a captain," he said. "Maybe admiral will be in the cards one day. But I'm rather happy with where I'm at."

This also tracked. Dante had been serving for quite awhile by this point-- and he served his country and crew with compassion and integrity-- so a promotion felt like it should be imminent. And the two always had contentment in common. As long as they were on the open waters, it didn't really matter what they were-- so Dante's relaxed response to the possibility of promotion was expected as well.

"Makes you all the better a candidate for it," Caspar concluded aloud.

"Are you flattering me for being humble?" Dante asked with a laugh.

With a small grin, Caspar lightly nudged his arm with an elbow. "The humble are usually most in need of a boost."

"Please," Dante said, waving him off, but he laughed lightheartedly again.

Softly humming his own amusement, Caspar slowed as he caught sight of a rustic stand selling brightly colored flower clippings. There were some pre-arranged bundles-- mixes of garden-grown and wild plants-- and entire jars with one kind of flower each. A visitor was putting together their own bouquet from those jars. They paid with only a friendly smile and nod, then stepped aside to reveal a less-than-sunny face among the sunflowers.

Caspar remembered this face very vividly, in part because he probably humiliated himself in her presence ten times within ten minutes.

"You go ahead and scout out lunch options," he said, giving his friend a quick pat on the shoulder. "I'll meet you back, uhm..." He scanned the food vendors, then settled for instead, "I'll find you."

"Good idea," Dante agreed, already eyeing a leg of smoked ham. "I'll catch you in ten."

And the two split.

Caspar knew a few people who could use a small bright spot in their days, anyhow.

Miss Flora had turned momentarily, so he came to a stop a short distance away. Which confused a different vendor, since he stood too close. He awkwardly shuffled sideways, then strategically made his actual approach once she had turned back around and could then see him.

He gave a small nod and wave, with a quiet, "Hullo, Miss Flora."

Flora, however, simply nodded back in acknowledgement, restocking and arranging the jars of flowers on her cart.

He didn't see or hear little Mister Finn anywhere nearby. Though he wanted to ask out of curiosity, he figured he wasn't supposed to seem to know about the kid yet. So.

"Do you, uhm." He tilted his head a bit to catch her attention again. "Set up every year?"

Flora notably did not quite meet his eyes. She was watching his lips to read his words, and she merely nodded in response.

He wondered if he should shave. Would that help at all?

Caspar was about to ask about where her garden was, since he didn't recall seeing it when he first visited. But, again, they were meant to be on square one.

Though, actually, he didn't really know if:

"You grew all of these?" he asked instead.

And again, Flora nodded, her expression still fixed into a stoic frown as she set another large sunflower into the vase. Frankly, the contrast was endearing, as well as the fact that the flower was probably as large as her face.

He glanced down and idly brushed his fingertips to the edges of some marigolds. She read lips wonderfully well, but he really wished he could... do more.

"Could you help me?" he piped up again. "For, uhm, my son and daughter?"

With a slight pinch of her brows, Flora tilted her head expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

Oh dear.

Tentatively, he gestured circles around one of the bouquets. "Can you help me make two?" he tried again.

Did he need to clarify "for his kids" specifically? Was there a gesture for that?

Flora turned away, crouching behind her cart for a moment. When she stood back up, she had a notepad and pen in hand, which she wordlessly offered for Caspar to take.

Oh! Smart.

Though the handwriting was clean and measured, Caspar still took an extra moment to fully decipher the cursive.

What type of flowers do they like?

Stiffly readjusting his grip on the pen until it was semi-comfortable, he slowly scratched out an answer.

son - rose, hidrangea
daughter - lots of colors, tulip

List in hand, Flora squinted at it closely then glanced at Caspar, but her expression was unreadable. She nodded once, sifting through the roses first.

Caspar quietly watched as she carefully plucked out white roses and baby's breath, blue hydrangeas and delphinium, mullein for bright spots of yellow mixed in, and bundled eucalyptus for greens. A complex yet complementary mix of sizes and textures belied the complexity of James's sharp mind. And the majority cool tones reflected his soft-spokenness.

She carefully tied it all together with brown twine, and handed off the bundle to Caspar. He gingerly held them under his nose, his heart momentarily weighed by how well they suited the younger man's melonchaly, too. Not that Miss Flora could have known.

Without missing a beat, she turned a sharp, discerning eye back to her impressive inventory. She put together yellow and pink tulips, white daisies, fuchsia-colored thistles, three shoots of snapdragons that came in cascades of sunset hues each, and lemon leaves for the base. Soft, round shapes mixed with some spikiness for some punch in texture suited Hellen's kindness and spunk. And the variety of colors was really amazing.

With a bright red twine, Miss Flora deftly tied it all together and wordlessly offered the bouquet. Caspar smiled in deep appreciation for the clear care and expertise put into making them.

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head. He moved both bundles to one hand and patted down his pockets for...

Someone else came up alongside him, so Caspar side-stepped to give them space-- then bumped his head on the hanging sign that said "Flora's Flowers". Which was for the better, honestly, because hanging just under the main logo were the prices.

When he handed her four silver pieces-- two per bundle-- Miss Flora in turn gave him even more flowers. A smaller bundle of pink forget-me-nots, tied off with a white ribbon. And suddenly he was reminded of his days working with Bo and Robin. Countless memories of finding refuge wherever these flowers in particular grew. In gardens, on display in windows or table vases, and even worn in jacket pockets.

And if not a symbol of refuge, then it was at the very least a symbol of solidarity.

Carefully, he took them and quirked another small smile. Hesitated. Then slowly reached over and scribbled down on the set-aside notepad:

i can pay for this too?

Flora was quick to write another word, this time showing the notepad instead of offering it for him to take. There was only one word, underlined once.

Free.

Mis Flora, straight-faced as ever, tapped her fingertips to her chin then lowered her hand in a short arc, her palm turned skyward. It was the same gesture Bo performed with "thank you" when they met up within the heart of her home.

Carefully, Caspar mimicked her with a broader smile, and a murmured, "Thank you."

If we are the actors...

The firelight dimmed, the soft glow of lanterns radiating the music stands. Like an ethereal magic, cerulean paper lanterns dotted the dark stage, glimmering above them like wishful stars floating across the shadows of the expansive night sky.

With dusk befallen among the audience, the hushed whispers quieted as Conductor Messan bowed, turning towards Alan.

His cue to provide the tuning note.

... then the world is our stage.

Alan stood, violin firmly in hand. Starry spotlight on him, he rang out the universal A-note, leading the orchestra to follow his lead, accommodate to his perfect pitch. After having caused the sea of instruments to play the song of chaotic cacophony, he slid back into his seat, violin perched on his knee.

Everyone else is merely an observer.

The concert went long. It was almost second nature, now. Alan knew he played a solo, and he was indeed honored, though he would be lying if he said he was trying his best.

The applause only really rang in his ears after they finished bowing. Conductor Messan proudly grinned and gestured towards their soloists again, once more signaling Alan out, to which he bowed again, watching for his cue to leave.

The violinists always left first. Violin and bow in hand, he let his stand partner, Horace Pen, grab the music sheets as he led the way out of the stage first.

"That was a fantastic solo, Alan!" Horace congratulated him once they reached the back stage. "The whole crowd was enraptured!"

Alan offered a smile, bending down to set his violin in his case. "Thank you, Horace. You played well too. Great job at taking over the difficult double-stops for me."

He almost said 'good job for turning the page quickly' as well-- but stopped himself just in time when he realized that may not have been the best compliment to give.

A few others stopped by to give their word. Many string players, and even some woodwind and brass players. Alan nodded in thanks for all of them.

"Nice job!" Lionel Chesterson, the first trumpet said, clapping for Alan.

Lionel was literally-- musically and as a person-- the loudest musician of the orchestra. They didn't frequently interact, but it seemed that Alan had gained enough of his respect to warrant him engaging with the other players, encouraging them for more applause.

"You flatter me. That's not necessary," Alan said with a faint laugh, barely bowing in thanks to end the praise. "Thank you, all. We put on a memorable concert."

More chatter, more compliments, praise, talks. It all sort of blurred together as Alan smiled and individually talked to the other players, often talking about everything and nothing simultaneously, always, at the same time.

Time was ticking. He had a different event to get to. It was time to play a new song, a new score. A new solo.

There was one person he wanted to talk to beforehand, though.

Scanning around the back stage, Alan caught the red hair within the buzzing crowd of matching musicians, on her way to amble out of the stage. Quick to dismiss himself from conversation, he quickly pattered after her, calling after her: "Rose, wait up."

Rose whirled around, her disinterested frown ever-present as he caught up. As expected, she said nothing, nor seemed to care.

She was a fucking prodigy. Alan didn't understand why she stuck around in Ruddlan to play the cello. If he were more selfless, or if he thought she'd even listen, he'd encourage her to explore different places, especially since it would be so easy for her.

But the selfish side of him was glad she was here, because she was the only other musician who seemed more than happy to openly critique him. And Alan so badly needed to improve.

"How did I do?" he asked hopefully anyways, nudging for her to follow him across the grass.

Rose steadied her cello over her shoulders, trudging on with him. "You sounded distracted. You were too-well practiced, not conveying the whimsy, wonder, and awe the score required. It was boring and dull."

Alan hummed, nodding. "Okay... noted. Be more whimsical."

She stared at him blankly. "Sound more whimsy, if the music calls for it."

Whimsy. Whimsy, whimsy, whimsy. Alan could be whimsy. It wasn't difficult for him to be playful, or teasing, or spontaneous. He could channel that energy into song, easily.

It was good advice, though part of him was unconvinced that Rose of all people could determine whimsy. He made a mental note of this as he continued to ask for specific feedback, especially pertaining to technicalities. To which Rose, predictably, heard every tiny intonation mishap and could recall the specific measures of the song of when they happened.

As could Alan, because he knew when he made mistakes.

Eventually, they parted ways, but not before he begged Rose to put away his violin at the university hall, since he had other more important matters to attend to. She only stared at him questionably-- especially since he had to quickly change out of his concert shirt to something more presentable and classy-- but she eventually agreed... as long as he practiced.

To which Alan, gladly, accepted. He knew what he had to work on to improve himself.

Finally parting ways with his friend, a grin spread across his face as he zig-zagged across the crowd, ready to meet the love of his life at the meetup point.

In the midst of the bustling crowd, Lara stood out among everyone else. In fact, for a moment, there was no crowd. Only Lara.

Standing there in her finest, soft blue dress he knew she loved, she looked absolutely heavenly-- like an angel in the light of the moon and the stars. Her eyes searched and searched until they finally met his, and then her whole face lit up in a bright smile he absolutely adored.

"Alan!" Lara shouted across the crowd, excitedly running toward shim.

"Lara!" he called back with a laugh, dashing through the crowd without a care in the world of how they looked.

They were drawn to each other like magnets. Running into each other, Lara was in his warm embrace as their synced laughs echoed across the field. Alan let the momentum carry him, spinning her around and lifting her up by the waist, eyes brimming with love as he contrasted her beautiful face against the starry sky.

"I'm so glad you're here," he said with an adoring smile, deep affection pooling in his eyes. Gently, he set her back on the ground, arms around her waist to embrace.

"I'm so glad to be," Lara echoed, holding him close. "You were perfect. You were made for this, Alan."

"For this?" he said playfully with a grin, cupping her face with both hands and pecking the tip of her nose. "Absolutely. I cannot agree more."

Lara giggled and melted under his touch.

"I meant you making music," Lara said, softer. "Moving people's hearts. Making... magic, like this, real."

"Lara, love." Tenderly, he slipped a strand of hair behind her ear, grazing his thumb over her cheek. "Before you, all I heard was silence. But then you came along, and now, I can only hear symphonies." Adoring smile widening, he pulled her closer, resting his chin over her head. "You are my song, Lara."

There was a soft silence as Lara comfortably rested her head against Alan's chest.

"I don't want to crush the flowers," she said, softer, pulling away to show him a bouquet. "They're for you."

Flowers?

Curiously pulling away, Alan faintly chuckled as the bouquet finally came into view. A colorful and pleasant bundle of foxglove, snapdragons, butterfly weeds, larkspurs and sweet peas, neatly wrapped with delicate white papers and ribbon.

"I was so enamored by you, I didn't even see the flowers," he said with a grin, taking the bouquet. "Thank you, my love. Though I should be getting you flowers."

"Today is a special day for both of us," Lara said. "But especially for you. You deserve to be celebrated."

"And I'd want nothing more than to spend the day with the love of my life," Alan said smoothly. "Speaking of..." A fond grind spread across his face as he glanced across the park, holding the bouquet with both hands. "I have a night planned for us. Are you ready to go?"

Lara tilted her head to the side, watching him with a sweet smile.

"Ready," she said with excitement leaking through her eyes.



"Where are we going?" Lara asked with a giggle.

"Just a little further," he encouraged with a laugh over his shoulder. "A few more rings."

This was the unfortunate part of the date: scaling up the ladder on the side of a building they had never been to. At least, that Lara hadn't been to. Alan had sneaked up here plenty of times, especially recently to set up the date. Though, when younger, he'd come here with Lyall to get away from the world.

Having reached the top, Alan pulled himself up to stand on the roof, quick to offer a hand to his girlfriend, which she gladly took to gain a firm footing. But before she could comment or steal a single glance around, he covered her eyes with his hands, grinning.

"We're almost there. I'll lead you to it, okay? It will be a surprise," he said with a playful nudge.

"Okay, okay!" she said brightly.

"Close your eyes. I'll guide you."

With some coaxing, he slowly and gently tugged her along, dodging the pipe system jutting out from the ground. Just a little further...

Finally, he stopped Lara in front of the rooftop garden, assortment of desert plants thriving under the starry sky. The cacti were in full bloom, their flowers pleasantly emitting their sweet aroma, contrasting against the giant, heavy, sleepy leaves of the tropical plants that drooped beside them.

In the middle of the garden was Alan's efforts: a table for two, adorned with a white table cloth, vase with a singular red rose, and bottle of red wine accompanied with two wine glasses. The eatery items laid symmetrically beside one another: a white plate, napkin folded into a flower on top of the plate, and a fork, spoon, and knife neatly laid in straight lines.

And of course, he couldn't forget the ambiance. Dozens and dozens of thin candles and dim lanterns dotted the roof, providing a comfortable, cozy, warm glow.

"Okay," Alan said softly with a tender smile, brushing his hand against hers. "Open your eyes."

Slowly, she opened them, peering around the room in awe and surprise. As she took it all in he saw all her features soften, and when she finally turned to look back at him, he saw nothing but love and adoration in her eyes.

"Alan," she said softly. "This is... this is beautiful. You did all of this?"

"A special night for a special someone," he answered with a fond grin, tugging her hand as he nudged his head towards the table. "Come on. You must be starving."

Alan had spent days prepping. Mostly in figuring out logistics so everything could be perfect. The setting, the ambiance, the table, the plants, the food.

Lara sat down, brushing down the skirt of her dress in her seat.

"So I know it may have made more sense to, you know, make something fancy," Alan began, pulling out an insulated cart from underneath the table. "But I don't think we need fancy. As long as it was made with love, that's all that matters."

Proudly, he lifted the insulated lid off the tray, revealing a big plate of all the foods that Lara enjoyed: flaky buttery fish, buttered potatoes with rosemary, peppered collared greens, and crispy cornbread.

"My favorite," Lara said with a pleading pout, and widening eyes.

"A special meal for a special someone," Alan amended with a smile, setting the lid on the bottom shelf. He slid into his seat, gesturing towards the tray. "Please, take as much food as you want. It's definitely made with love."

Lara reached over and picked up one of the two forks, eagerly picking up a bite of potatoes first, and taking a bite with a giddy shimmy of her shoulders.

"Mmm!" she said with a hand over her mouth. "It's so good!"

"I'm glad," Alan said with a pleased smile.

After some back-and-forths about the food, he reached over to slide humble portions for himself, though left most of the potatoes alone since he knew how much she enjoyed them.

There was a lull of natural silence as they ate, but Alan didn't let it sit for too long.

"I know I've been so busy lately, but you know I'll always make the time for you," he said with a smile. "Regardless: how has your week been?"

Lara hummed, looking up in thought as she chewed. She cleared her throat to answer.

"Oh! Well, it's been pretty busy with the festival. We've been having special services at church, so we've all been helping dad set things up and tear down and -- well, with the food kitchen, we're swamped on a normal day, but with all the food deals around town, things have actually been lighter. So that's been nice, I guess, for less stress."

"Still, that sounds like a lot of work," Alan commented attentively. "And for good cause, too. I hope you've been taking the time for yourself. You deserve that."

"I'm trying to, here and there," Lara said with a shrug. She paused to load up another bite on her fork but kept talking soon after. "I don't know."

He reached his foot under the table to slide up against hers. "I'd be happy to help too. The summer is so busy for your family, and you know I've been wanting to spend more time with them. Plus, I'm not taking classes. I'll have ample time to help."

Lara smiled softly, meeting Alan's eyes.

"Well... if you've got the time, we could probably use your help at the library. Mom's been around more, with school out, but she's got a new project. Right now they're doing a complete overhaul of the organization system in the library that she's overseeing, and they have to get it all done before the next semester starts. She's been having me help in my free time, but it's a bit more like a part time job at this point."

Alan smiled, quirking his brows with curiosity. "And how is that looking? What type of changes are you making, and how far along are you?"

"She's implementing this thing they're calling the 'dewey decimal system,'" she said. "We're only done with the fiction section." She chuckled, shrugging as she took another bite. She waited to finish chewing before speaking again. "It's not all bad, though," Lara said. "Since mom's got access to all the blocked off sections of the library, I'm hoping this can get my foot in the door to access some of the older texts. They really only let trusted people in, so."

"Well, I'd love to help-- or at the very least, provide my time and company," Alan offered with a warm smile. "What sorts of older texts do they have back there, anyways?"

"Most of it's stuff prior to the War Against Magic," Lara said. "But some of it goes way back, hundreds of years."

He hummed, taking a humble bite of the fish. "Is that why public access is limited? To safeguard the old books?"

"Yeah," Lara said. "It'd be like handing over a 500 year old painting by a famous artist to a stranger. These are significant historic artifacts. They're susceptible to damage if someone were to be careless, or even just ignorant."

He nodded in agreement. "Certainly warrants protecting. You must feel in awe that you can closely interact with an ancient document. These are documents that withstood hundreds and hundreds of years, all easily within reach. It is so much precious history, contained in one room that you have the privilege of being in."

"That's what I'm hoping for, anyway," Lara said with a dreamy sigh. "It's such an honor... getting to touch a piece of history like that. Knowing someone hundreds of years ago, just like us, was writing on it, probably oblivious to the fact that someone would find it generations after their passing."

"History is always being made with every passing second," Alan said with a gentle smile. "Even now. Every action we take is and will be memorable. I have full confidence that, one day, a future historian will look back and remember you as someone worth remembering."

Lara smiled sweetly, reaching across the table to hold his hand.

"Well, if they remember me -- they ought to remember you, too," she said. "They'll remember the both of us."

"That's right." He smiled, curling his fingers around her own. "This is the story of us. We'll tell the world a story to remember."

With a fond smile, she stabbed the last piece of potatoes, already almost done with them. She squeezed his hand lightly before letting go.

"Have you been really busy?" Lara asked. "I know you had a lot of rehearsals this week leading up to the concert."

"Oh, yes. Quite." Alan nodded, taking another lofty bite, giving him plenty of time to reflect on his answer. "The summer orchestra season climaxed at the festival, so it will be lighter from here-- at least, until the beginning of the semester. I'm hoping to secure concertmaster chair for the year's symphony, which is my next goal now that the concert is over. I've also been keeping up with quartet shows at Barlowe's Estate, which has surprisingly been dense, so I've been staying busy. And of course, I've been spending time with family, too. There's always some kind of mini disaster happening with them, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

He stabbed a potato piece on his fork, lightly waving it around with a more playful smile. "So yes. I have been keeping busy. Especially since I've committed most of my time with you, but-- just like family-- I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lara's eyes followed the potato on his fork, and she smirked.

"Well now I feel awfully lucky," she said.

"Oh, now you're making it too easy for me to say something cliche and cheesy," Alan teased, pointing the potato piece at her. "Which I won't do, by the way. I refuse."

"Oh, come on," she teased back. "I set you up for it on purpose!"

"Then how about I offer something romantic instead?" he offered, breaking into a fond grin.

Lara laughed. "Fine," she said with a wide smile. "I suppose that'll do."

Alan set down his fork, holding her gaze. The soft candlelight flickered, casting a warm flow across Lara's delicate features. Pulling his legs away from under the table, he scooted the chair back, standing upright. "Then come here," he said warmly, affectionate growing in his chest.

Lara's expression softened, and she melted under his gaze, getting to her feet to meet him.

"Come here," he said again with a faint laugh, bringing her in.

He tugged on her hand until her shoulders were close enough to hold. Fingertips brushing against them, Alan slid his hands upwards until he cupped her cheek and she was completely under his grasp. He loved how he could hold her like this, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his palms.

Grazing his thumb against her cheek, all he could think of was: Lara was the love of his life, and he couldn't wait to spend the rest of their years together.

He peered into her eyes to see the windows to her soul that captivated him two years ago. In its endless depths, he could just barely make out the reflection of their future being built together, overlooked by a dark shadow.

"Happy anniversary, my love," he whispered, still searching her eyes. Perhaps for a different window to peer inside.

"Happy anniversary, Alan," Lara said softly with a smile in her eyes. "I've loved every minute of it."

The scene echoed in his head, rehearsed and polished like the script of a play he had performed countless of times: hold her hand, get down on one knee, pull out the ring, tell her how much you love her, and then ask, "Will you marry me?"

Blinking, Alan realized he had already moved, finding his hand intertwined with hers, her palm warm and soft. And expectant, like her eyes. Like the curiosity in her smile. The softness of her words.

Still searching her eyes, Alan found a different window: a mirror of the flickering candlelight that reflected back at him. It was a steady, gentle flame-- and yet, it failed to spark a genuine warmth.

Fuck.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This felt...

Wrong?

No.

Not wrong. It just...

Didn't feel right. But not wrong.

It wasn't perfect.

And Alan needed this to be perfect.

He could only propose once, dammit. This was the love of his life. Everything had to be perfect. He had to feel like this was meant to be. Like the world had paused to take a breath so he could get down on his fucking knees and ask her to be his wife. Even the stars had to align to make this entire day special for her.

No. No, no.

This wasn't right. At least, not now. He had to rethink this later. Come back to this, then make it even better.

Even this smallest pause for air felt too drawn out, and he knew how prone Lara was to anxiety. And so his lips curved into a reassuring smile, one that was carved from gentleness, and love, and devotion-- everything a romantic partner ought to be.

And then he took a breath, feeling the world continue its spin, passing them by.

"Lara, my love," he began, squeezing her hand while still holding her cheek with his free hand. "These past two years with you have been pure magic, it ought to be illegal. Your smile lights up even my darkest days, and your laughter is the sweetest melody I have ever heard. These two years have been the best of my life, and I know that with you by my side, every year will be better than the last."

He leaned in, gingerly kissing her forehead, his lips brushing against her skin as he whispered, "Happy anniversary, my love." Pulling away, he warmly smiled and cupped her face again, palms flushed against her cheek. "Here's to us, to our love, and to a lifetime of happiness together."

There was a flicker of something in Lara's eyes akin to surprise, but her smile softened, and she leaned into his touch.

"To a lifetime of happiness," she echoed, leaning in for a kiss.

And so he leaned in to close the gap between them, his lips touching hers, forming a silent vow of love. As he kissed her, his mind wandered, wondering how best to pivot. It wouldn't be too difficult to pivot from this; he just had to tell her his plans for the rest of the night, which was to lay on the rooftop together, in each other's arms, stargazing.

And he will do that. Soon.

But instead he kissed her deeply, gingerly holding her face, thinking back on their past two years, peering into their projected futures together-- and wondering if these thoughts, plus kissing her, would ignite something in him.

Mid-kiss, Alan opened his eyes, watching Lara for a few seconds to see if he could find the answer in her.

But her eyes were closed, and he saw and felt nothing.

Pulling away, he smiled softly and tucked her hair back, noting the life and sparkle return in her eyes.

"Let's lay down."

Two matches were down. One left to go.

Cyrin tucked his net under his arm as he walked off the field, wiping off the sweat from his forehead with a cloth. His steps kicked up more russet dirt as he made his way to a bench on the sidelines, where he picked up his water flask and took a large gulp. He would've chugged the rest, if there wasn't the netball finals coming up right after this.

"You're dusty enough to give the whole town allergies," he shouted over his shoulder at Tula, who had taken a stumble near the end of the second round and was covered in dirt. They all were, but it was a different level of comical with her.

"Good," Tula huffed, flopping on the bench with a tired grunt. She only spent a second dusting off her curly hair caked with dirt, undoing the hairtie to retie her hair. "Let everyone sneeze and hack from my presence. It's more effective than the ugly desert flowers."

"You do know you have a team who you might not necessarily want wheezing their lungs out, right?" Cyrin said, sitting down beside her and shielding their eyes from the sun.

Tula tsked, rolling her eyes. "This team is weak; they are already wheezing from their weak lungs. You and I both know we are holding this team together. Everyone else can fall over and die from dirt poisoning for all I care."

"Pretty sure that's not a thing," Cyrin said, looking out at the field of retreating, tired netball players. The Ruddy Buddies-- their team, not that they'd chosen the name-- were looking a little tired in particular. "Or else you'd be dead."

Tula scoffed. "They wish. If we don't win, I'm going to murder the fucking loser who loses our medal." She then snatched Cyrin's water flask out of his hands to chug the water, the excess of which dribbled out of her mouth and fell against her dusty red jersey.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand you've marked the moment where I die of dehydration," Cyrin said, staring at her, unimpressed. "Bring your own damn water!"

Tula pulled the flask away, taking a breath of air while scowling at Cyrin. "Go find the water boy dweeb to fill it up," she said, slapping the flask against his chest.

"And die of old age in the line?" Cyrin replied indignantly.

Tula hummed, swishing a free strand of her curly hair over her shoulder. "No, that's too slow of a death. Much better you die a slow, agonizing death of dehydration instead."

Across the field, the team they won against began making their leave to the sidelines. The "Killer Serpents" had been anything but, and as they gathered together in their green uniforms, they looked more like a bush than a serpent. They'd put up a good fight, but at the end of the game, they ended up being too unorganized to get a leg up on the Ruddies, as their team had already resorted to calling themselves in shorthand.

Closer to where Cyrin and Tula sat was the water station - a long picnic table with two big spouted barrels full of water. The water boy already had a long line of thirsty players looking for refills. There would be a wait.

Fortunately, they had an hour break before their next game. The other game that ran alongside theirs was between the Gruff Griffs and the Solar Sands. The Griffs won and were currently marching around on the adjacent field in their bright orange jerseys.

They were a bit of a ways off, but amidst their team, Cyrin caught sight of a familiar shock of white hair.

Alexander Kingsman had locked his sights on Cyrin and Tula.

Apparently, he'd joined the netball tournament event - and now he was on the opposing team about to play them next in the finals.

Tula nudged Cyrin's arm, sharply glaring towards Alexander. "Fuck me."

"I would rather not," Cyrin said, though he could hear the usual lightheartedness had disappeared from his voice.

"Hendrik's silver fox is here," she hissed, her hostile and daggering expression unwavering.

Alexander's stare didn't break as he took a long drink from his canteen. It appeared, upon further observation, that Alexander was staring at Tula in particular.

Well, that could be good. Or bad. The less he noticed Cyrin, the better, but he didn't like how much attention Tula was getting. It creeped him out.

"Act natural," she growled, despite growing even more hostile by the second. "He's approaching."

"I look natural," Cyrin said, settling in more relaxedly and even glancing away for a moment, even though every instinct was telling him to keep his eyes on him. "You look like a jackal ready to pounce."

"No, you don't," Tula said defensively under her breath, crossing her arms and finally peering her glare away so it could settle on Cyrin instead. "You need to be more ugly. He's got a thing for pretty boy faces."

"Aw, really? Should I swear more dirt on it or--" Cyrin paused. "How do you know that?"

But there was no time for that now.

Breaking away from his team with a quick wave, Alexander began to stalk over to them at a steady pace. It was a long enough walk that the wait was uncomfortable, especially with Kingsman's unwavering stare. As Kingsman drew closer, Cyrin could see a curious, almost malicious smirk growing on his face.

"Oh, well isn't this marvelous," Alexander called out, looking at Tula with a smile somehow simultaneously warm and threatening. "If it isn't the infamous Tula Nazar. Dragons above, it's been ages since I've seen you. Daresay - almost eight years? Why, I thought you were dead with how you disappeared."

"Hello, Alexander," Tula said cooly, arms still crossed. She studied him closely with a slight frown. "Still a fan of dramatic entrances, I see."

"You, however, are far more hostile than I recall," Alexander said with a small pout. "What, no greetings for an old friend?"

"Hostile?" Tula echoed inncoently with a tilt of her head. "You're mistaken. This is my normal face. Perhaps you don't remember much, after all."

"I remember we used to be quite friendly, actually," Alexander said, spinning his canteen in his hand. "All of those partner missions, the quick, clean kills. Gods, we were such a good team."

Oh, gods. So that's what this was. Two colleagues bonding over their bloodthirsty glory days-- or parabonding, since it was one-sided.

Tula nodded at his jersey. "We are in oppossing teams," she reminded him. "Our paths are no longer crossing. I will see you in the field."

"So quick to toss me away again?" Alexander said in what sounded like mock hurt. "Without even a note this time. What was it you said the last time you left? Oh, that's right. 'See you later. Catching the most famous mage yet.' Not a word more."

It took every ounce of willpower for Cyrin not to stiffen, flinch, or otheriwse react.

Alexander let out a laugh, but his smile quickly faded as he glared at Tula.

"Eight years, Tula," he said. "Not a word since. What, did the mage catch you?"

Tula stood, taking a sharp stride forward to stand closely in front of Alexander. Even if he was much taller and bigger than her, she stood fiercely and confidently, eyes ablaze with rage.

"Woah, woah," Cyrin said with a pacifying tone and a slight laugh, getting to his feet and raising his hands up. "What's this all about?"

"We spent our time chasing monsters, but you are the biggest fat-faced monster I needed to get away from," she hissed in his face. "Did it ever cross your mind that I left you because you are a vile person? Or did you spend the last eight years whining and reliving the glory days in ignorance, naive and foolish, because you're much too dull to be self-aware?"

Alexander's eyes lit up with anger, but there was something else dancing in them - like he was getting off on this drama. His mouth twitched into a small, almost crazed smile as he nodded. Cyrin felt a little more sick.

"So this is who you are, now," Alexander said, quieter. "Who made you of all people feel self righteous enough to get up on a soapbox?"

"Aw, is that what you think?" Tula cooed. "That I needed someone bigger than me to be a better person? How cute. No wonder you haven't changed."

Alexander scoffed. "Better person," he echoed. "Tula, you and I are cut from the same cloth."

He looked at Cyrin with a cutting, accusatory glance.

"How on earth did Ruddlan's poster boy become the company you keep?" he asked.

As Cyrin raised his eyebrows curiously at Alexander, Tula sharply swept an arm to her side, shoving Cyrin away while keeping her death glare on Alexander. "Leave him out of this," she snarled. "This is between you and me. But there is nothing more to discuss, because we are done. After this game, we won't be crossing paths anymore."

"My gods, Tula," Cyrin marveled, looking between Alexander and her as if he were just a very, very confused bystander. Which he was, to some extent. "Who is this guy, and why has he got you seventy percent more murderous than usual?"

"Bridger," Tula said sternly, her venomous glare now fixed on him. She shoved Cyrin back even more forcefully, causing him to stumble. "Back off."

"Listen to Tula," Alexander said, his voice laced with an unspoken threat. He didn't cast Cyrin a glance as he kept his eyes fiercely locked with Tula's. "This is between us, now."

"Fine," Cyrin huffed, stepping back with a shrug and their hands raised, even as their heart raced. "Dragons above, just don't kill each other."

Tula ignored him, her murderous glare sharply pointed back towards Alexander. "What do you want?" she said with a low voice through clenched teeth.

"Is the truth too hard for you, Nazar?" he asked. "You think I'm stupid enough to believe you actually went off to catch 'a famous mage?' Fucking try harder. What a bold-faced lie."

"I already told you, but of course you don't listen," Tula replied disapprovingly. "I left because I wanted to leave you."

That wasn't how Cyrin remembered it, of course. But there was no way for Alexander to know that for sure.

Alexander huffed, and the disbelief was clear in his eyes as he narrowed them and tilted his head to the side. He flicked his eyes to Cyrin, casting a curious, suspicious look his way before meeting Tula's eyes again.

"Really," he said, quieter. "That's not what I remember when we..."

And then went on in far too many explicit details of personal, intimate, and violent matters between him and Tula that Cyrin wished he could scrub his brain free of.

"Is this really the company you kept, Tula?" Cyrin asked, with a hint of disdain in his look to Alexander. Golden boys didn't want to be tarnished by those around them, after all.

"You fucking liar!" Tula screamed anyways, shoving at Alexander's chest. "That's all you ever do! Lie, lie, lie, and complain! Fuck you, Kingsman!"

"I'm just joining the club!" Alexander laughed maliciously, spreading his arms wide invitingly. "Not an honest word between us!"

Tula snarled and reached for her knife that Cyrin knew she always sheathed under her shirt by her belt. Though she hardly had more time for a reaction before a familiar booming voice interrupted.

"Is there a problem here?" Hendrik asked, towering over them with a deep frown as he glanced between the two of them, hands on his hips.

Alex craned his head around to look at Hendrik, his manic smile fading into a curled upper lip.

"Not now, drunk," Tula said with a devilish smirk, sharing the same crazed expression as she then pulled out her dagger, its blade glinting under the desert sun.

Tula, no, Cyrin thought desperately. Don't let him know you know each other.

"Dear gods, woman. The hell is this? A knife fight?" Hendrik spat, attempting to dislodge the knife from her hand, but he was too slow. "Back away, you two. Don't kill each other over a game. Take a deep breath."

Narrowing his eyes at Tula, Alexander lifted up his hands in surrender, backing away.

"That's right. Easy," Hendrik said gruffly with placating hands in front of him. When Alexander moved a comfortable distance away, he stared past Tula, nodding once at Cyrin, then turned away and chased after Alexander.

"I'm going to kill you," Tula said loudly, still pointing the dagger at him.

"I wish you would," Alexander taunted, hands still raised.

And so Tula listened. She readied her throw of the dagger.

Cyrin's hand shot out, closing around her wrist just as the dagger prepared to leave her hand. The wobble threw her aim off balance, and the dagger clattered to the dust a few feet ahead.

"Dear GODS!" Hendrik howled, prancing a few paces away to avoid the dagger. "Dragons! Have you lost your damn mind?!"

Alexander rested a hand on his chest. "Saved by Ruddlan's finest," he said. "I'm honored."

Cyrin raised an eyebrow at him, with a look that said he wasn't up to the taste of Ruddlan's finest, as he dusted his hands off.

"Kingsman, you're coming with me," Hendrik said firmly, not awaiting a response as he he yanked him by the forearm, marching across the field. "We're leaving this crazy."

"Love a man who'll boss me around," Alexander said, spinning around to join Hendrik. "My hero."

The last thing Cyrin heard from Hendrik was his loud grumbling about how he had to abandon his beer to save "his sorry ass." He was still loudly audible despite being some paces away, but Tula whipped around, disrupting Cyrin's view. From all the years he had known her, he hadn't quite seen the blazing hatred light up in her eyes like a poisonous flame.

"What in Nye was that?" they hissed in a whisper, once they were sure Alexander was out of range.

"You already know what happened," Tula lowly hissed, angrily marching past Cyrin, towards the opposite side of the field of Alexander and Hendrik. She precariously bumped against him, but shoved him to the side anyways, trudging forward. "Don't make me repeat it."

"That's not what I'm talking about. I was there," Cyrin said quietly, following after her. "You were friends?"

"Ancient history," Tula answered dismissively.

"Then why couldn't you let it be in the past?" Cyrin heard his voice heightening, but it wasn't frustration or anger. It was panic. "He's going to be onto us, Tula. You saw he was suspicious."

After ducking under the bleachers, Tula sharply turned around, standing close to Cyrin to give her signature intimidating glare up close. "I know, Cyrin," she said cooly. "So back. Off. There is no us. This ancient history doesn't concern you."

Cyrin glanced at Alexander and Hendrik out of the corner of their eye, who were still retreating.

"It doesn't matter whether you say there is or isn't an us," they said. "There's no way he'll buy any explanation for how we've come to know each other since you fell off the grid. Because I'm supposed to be their golden boy, and you're--"

A true friend who doesn't give a damn about any of that.

"What? Bad company who ruins your reputation?" Tula said in the short pause that followed, filling in their words.

"Someone they'd never expect," Cyrin said, shooting her a look. "You're only bad company in their eyes."

Tula held her hostile gaze, expression unreadable outside of her dull frown. "The situation is complicated," she said more evenly, seemingly appeased by the words left unsaid. "What with our missions as well as Alexander and Hendrik being involved. I suggest we take the matters to leadership." She tilted her chin up, expression pointed. "Don't be a fool, Cyrin. This is bigger than you."

It was. They knew it was. If they were under suspicion, their whole family-- which had miraculously avoided any scrutiny thus far-- would be too. So would their resistance connections, like Tula-- and now Hendrik.

"Do you realize the risks at hand here?" Tula went on with a hushed voice, frown deeping. Her stare was intensely prominent, as usual. "This isn't just about you. Of course, there is ample risk with the group. But this also opens risk to your family, even little Magnus. It only takes one ounce of suspicion for Alexander to pounce on a mage investigation."

"I know. I know," Cyrin said in a quiet, strained tone. "And-- Tula, he probably already has that much."

He pointed at the ground between them.

"There's only so many people who are of enough influence here to be a 'famous mage'," Cyrin said. "In the order of two dozen, maybe. And suddenly you're talking to one of them, eight years after you fell off the face of the planet. This is--"

He sighed faintly, not willing to risk throwing up his hands.

"I need to talk to Bo," he muttered. "He should know I could be compromised."

"Yes. That's what I said," Tula said stubbornly, crossing her arms. "And that crossed my mind the second I saw him. We were doomed the moment he saw the two of us together. Ever since it was announced that he was in town, I was trying to limit our time together in public, but nooooo, you just had to join the netball competition! And bring me along, too!"

"I--" Cyrin sputtered. "I'm an athlete! That's what I do!"

"I'm an aThLeTe," Tula mocked. "Was it worth it, Cyrin? Was this worth dying for?"

Cyrin felt a headache brewing as they pinched the bridge of their nose. Gods.

"I'm getting in line for more water," they said instead, turning away. "Because you had to be a thirsty bitch. Come on, we have another stupid game to win."

Bo had just finished putting a loaf in the oven when the front door opened without a knock. Only one person he knew would let themselves in to a place without a key - and that was Cyrin. He turned his head to peek out of the kitchen into the entryway, a spike of alarm causing his heartrate to pick up when he read the suppressed panic in Cyrin's tense posture.

Finn was upstairs with Flora, at the moment. He was getting a bath. Raj and Mel were out at the base. Bo was getting dinner ready.

He took off the oven mitts, meeting Cyrin's eyes with worry as they looked up and closed the door behind them.

He didn't have to ask what was wrong.

"Believe it or not, I have some good news," Cyrin said, pulling over a chair and crashing into it. "We totally won the netball tournament."

Bo knew there was more, but he managed a smile, though his gaze stayed worried.

"Congratulations," Bo said. "That doesn't surprise me. They had you on their team."

Cyrin cracked a faint, short-lived smile. "Tula helped too. She had the most penalties of any player, though."

Nodding, Bo joined Cyrin at the kitchen table, pulling up a chair across from him as he set his mitts on the table. He lightly brushed his hand on his apron and looked back up, attentively. He didn't mind the small-talk, really. It just made him worry - because Cyrin often had a hard time getting around to the truth. He could sense it more, now.

Cyrin's breathing was irregular. Anxious.

"That also doesn't surprise me," Bo said with a faint laugh.

Cyrin paused for a while. It seemed like they were starting to get to the part they'd came her for.

"The bad news is that Alexander Kingsman was on the final team we played," they said carefully. "He came up to talk to Tula and I. And it did not go very well."

Bo's brows raised in surprise for a moment, then knit together in concern.

"How so?" he asked quietly.

Cyrin dropped his gaze.

"Well, he used to know Tula," he said. "From when she was a mage hunter too. He seemed very suspicious about how the two of us suddenly got to know each other. Especially since the last thing he heard from her before she vanished from the guild was that..."

He pressed his lips together.

"She'd found out someone 'famous' was a mage and was off to hunt them," he said.

Bo pressed his lips into a line, letting out a slow, steady sigh.

Tula's past was coming back to haunt her in the form of Alexander Kingsman, and that man was about to become a thorn in his side. More than that, if he dared to touch Cyrin or the Bridgers. Bo knew he couldn't blame Tula for this oversight: if it hadn't been at the tournament, Alexander was likely to have run into her anywhere in Ruddlan with all of the snooping he was doing. Matters were just made worse that she was seen with Cyrin.

Regretfully, his first thought was that Cyrin would need to step back for a while, for not only their own safety, but the safety of their family. Bo couldn't help but think of little Magnus, who wouldn't know any better.

Gods, this family had already lost their mother. They didn't need to lose their brother, too. The only mercy in Lycila's death was that it hadn't been at the hands of mage hunters. Her magic had never been discovered, but if Alexander started sniffing around...

Bo's blood began to boil.

"Who else was there?" Bo asked, though he felt he knew the answer.

"Hendrik diffused the conversation," Cyrin said. "Which I don't think helped with any suspicion."

Bo sighed.

Though Hendrik had an explosive temper much like Tula's, he had the ability to control his own to deescalate when matters were impersonal for him. At least he was able to help that, but that meant Alexander was already putting pieces together.

Tula, Cyrin, and Hendrik would all be under more scrutiny now, in the city. And it was inevitable that something like this would happen, but damn it all - when it rained, it poured. Of course it was now, when they needed anonymity the most.

"Cyrin, I hate to say this," he said. "And I know you won't want to. But for the sake of your family, I need you to step back. I can't have your siblings put at risk if Kingsman has his eye on you."

They all knew that Alexander was ruthless. He would stop at nothing until he'd turned over every stone.

Cyrin looked up, a dreading look spreading over his face.

"It won't make a difference," he said.

"Tell me why," Bo said gently, willing to talk it out.

Cyrin bit their lip. "If he wants to investigate my family, he's going to investigate my family, regardless of whether I'm in the field or not," they said. "I... I've already handed him enough to do that."

Gods. Did the conversation really go that poorly?

"Okay," he said calmly. "Then we need to discuss a plan to keep you safe. And --"

Why was it always the husbands that were so difficult?

"--We're going to have to warn your family," he said. "They need to know they're about to be living in a glass house."

Cyrin's face fell, but he nodded faintly.

"I know your father is ambivalent about my involvement with you and your older siblings, and my involvement may cause rifts," Bo went on. "But I'd rather have that fall on me, than you. I know things are tense, as is. I can let them know of the threat and leave you out of it."

They nodded again, just barely.

"Okay," Cyrin said quietly. "Makes sense."

Bo watched Cyrin for a moment. They weren't quite looking at him anymore, and their anxious posture had turned sullen, almost guilty. A hard-to-read look was on their face. All Bo could see was the shell-shocked little boy he found years ago after surviving horrors he never should've had to know.

Bo's heart ached for him. He reached over, resting his hand over Cyrin's.

"Robin's been doing a lot of recon," he said. "But I'll assign him to guard your family personally."

If anyone would defend Cyrin's family fiercely, it was Robin. Bo knew he could trust him with that. Bo wished he didn't already have so much going on with the Ashlunds. Gods, he wished he could be in two places at once.

A faint look of relief passed over Cyrin's face. "Thank you."

Bo smiled faintly but soberly as an offer of assurance, and he squeezed Cyrin's hand.

"I'm so sorry this is happening," Bo said, softer. "This isn't your fault."

He knew Cyrin was blaming themselves for this. Sure enough, doubt flickered over their face at his words.

"Alexander Kingsman is not going to touch you, or your family," Bo said more firmly. "Not if I have anything to say about it. The only person at fault here is Kingsman. You and your family don't deserve this."

"I did make it worse, though," Cyrin said, finally meeting his gaze again with reluctance. "I injured him in the netball tournament. And it looked like it was an accident, but it wasn't one."

It took all of Bo's self control to avoid showing signs of amusement, because gods - sometimes Cyrin really did remind him of his younger self. He would've done that. And he would've thought it was funny, too.

He patted Cyrin's hand affectionately. No, he did not condone violence. But.

"Did you make sure it hurt, at least?" Bo asked.

"It hurt, alright," Cyrin said. "I broke his trigger finger."

Bo scooted his chair closer to Cyrin, and pulled Cyrin into a hug.

That's my boy.

"I don't see any damage done," Bo said. "He was already suspicious. Like you said, it doesn't change anything."

With a faint huff of bare amusement-- and what sounded like relief-- Cyrin hugged him back.

"If anything," Bo added, hugging Cyrin tighter. "Hopefully it'll slow him down. If only a little."

"That was the hope," Cyrin said. "That, or I gave him a different reason to remember the name."

Cyrin was clever. It was one of the many things Bo loved about him. Bo pulled away, holding Cyrin out at arm's length by the shoulders and meeting their eyes.

"You are not in this alone," Bo said firmly. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Cyrin said, a little more softly. "I do. Thanks, Bo."

"And you keep Tula in the loop," Bo said gently. "I know she jokes a lot, but if anyone's got your back, it's her."

Tula would kill someone for Cyrin in a heartbeat. That wasn't necessarily the best trait overall - to be so ready to kill - but in this situation, it was a blessing. Tula's bloodthirst had been channeled into fierce protection, and it was one of her greatest strengths.

Cyrin cracked a smile. "She's the only one who's allowed to put a knife in it."

Bo huffed through his nose, smiling in return. He paused for a moment glancing down at his pockets, patting his side to feel if he still had any of those dragon whistles Mickey made that only played a pitch dragons could hear.

He dug his hand in his pocket, finding there was one more buried under all of the other random things he carried with him.

One more. He'd only had three made. One was with Robin, one was with Lyall, and now -- the last one would go to Cyrin.

He pulled it out, flipping it in his fingers before offering it to Cyrin.

It was a small metal whistle, and nothing about it was remarkable. Aside from the fact that it was shiny, maybe, if someone liked shiny things.

"I am giving this to you," he said. "As a last resort."

Cyrin tilted his head, accepting it.

"I thought the last concert of the festival was yesterday," he said. "How am I to use it?"

"If you need me," Bo said. "Blow it."

A beat.

"As loud as you can, if possible," he said.

And, you know, Bo really should have seen this coming. Almost immediately, Cyrin put the whistle to their lips and blew with the full force of their lungs. Which was really, really loud.

Bo's eye twitched as the high-pitched noise rang in his ears for a solid two seconds before he reached over and plucked it out of Cyrin's mouth.

"Ow," he said.

"You heard that?" Cyrin asked, baffled.

"I have special ears," Bo said simply.

Cyrin was now staring at his ears. "No offense, but they look pretty average to me."

"Listen. Cyrin," Bo said. "The point is: if an emergency arises and you need me, this is the fastest way to get my attention. I mean it -- if I hear it, I'll be there."

Cyrin nodded, sobering as they slipped the whistle into one of their many pockets. "Right," he said. "I trust you."

"As for discussions with your family," Bo said a bit slower. "I'd rather not delay in letting them know, but I know tomorrow is a busy festival day with the masquerade, and I assume you'll all be participating. I don't want to dampen their festivities, so-- we can save that for next week. I'll take care of contacting your father. You don't have to be a part of arranging this, okay? I want to take as much pressure off of you as possible."

Cyrin nodded, looking relieved, but then hesitated.

"What about the pressure on you?" he asked gently.

Bo smiled sadly, patting Cyrin's knee.

"Like I said," he said. "We're in this together, right?"

"Right," Cyrin echoed.

"And if--" Bo started, but didn't finish.

There was a knock at the door. Bo looked up sharply.

"I've got it," he said, holding out a hand to tell Cyrin to stay where they sat, just in case Cyrin had been followed, or this was something else. Currently, behind the half-wall partitioning the kitchen off from the entryway, Cyrin couldn't be seen from the front door.

Best to keep it that way until Bo knew what this was about.

He adjusted his apron as he got to his feet and circled around, opening the door slowly to peer outside.

Relief hit him at first when he saw Leilan. But worry followed after when he saw the same kind of panic buried in Leilan's eyes that he'd seen in Cyrin's.

He opened the door wide for Leilan to come in.

"It's Leilan," he announced to Cyrin to relieve any tension. "Good to see you," he said, addressing Leilan as well.

"Hey," Leilan said, stepping in with a warm but strained smile. "Who's here?"

Cyrin stood up, waving around the corner of the partition. "Long time no see!"

"Hey, Cyrin," Leilan greeted, returning the wave. "Bo, I was just... dropping by to share some news. I can come back later if you're busy, but can the two of us talk sometime?"

Bo glanced back at Cyrin, who gave him a small nod, as if to say he could head out now if needed.

"We can head downstairs," Bo suggested. "Cyrin, feel free to stick around if you'd like. Bread's in the oven, the timer should go off in 40."

"Nothing shall burn," Cyrin promised with a nod.

Bo smiled with warm affection. Walking over he gave Cyrin a quick chaste kiss atop their head. Cyrin grinned softly.

"Thank you," he said, turning back to Leilan, who he waved to follow him. "To the basement we go."

"Great. Thank you," Leilan said, falling into step behind him. His smile was still there, but wavering.

Bo began to brace himself for bad news.

Trailing the hall, they turned to the secret passage, presently tucked behind a bookcase. Flora had left it open for the evening since Bo was moving about - but normally she closed off the stone wall for security when no one was home.

Bo carefully moved the bookshelf to the side and stepped in, letting Leilan fall into step behind him as he led the way. The stairwell leading down was long, but the journey felt short.

A single lamp was left lit by the entrance, but Bo began to cycle around all of the lamps, giving them a little zap of encouragement to light a flame so the room wasn't dark. Leilan got the last one for him, coaxing a light out of it with a shower of sparks.

Bo gestured to the well-loved couch along the wall that currently served as his naptime accompaniment most days.

"Is this a sit or a stand conversation?" Bo asked.

"Sit, probably," Leilan said. "It's not great news."

With a solemn nod, Bo took a seat on one end of the couch, looking to Leilan expectantly. Leilan sighed quietly as he sat, dropping his gaze to look up at Bo more seriously.

"It's Kingsman," he said.

No.

"I think I'm on a potential watchlist," Leilan said carefully. "Nothing accusative, just ones they create out of the next of kin for a mage they just caught and killed. But Kingsman came up to me at one of the dances this week and informed that the last member of my biological family-- a father I've never met-- got recently executed for being a lightning mage."

Bo's heart sank.

Not only was that intensely cold-hearted, but it was possibly the worst way for Leilan to have recieved that news, regardless of his relationship with his biological father.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "Did he give you any other information?"

"Not very much, apart from saying he was drowned," Leilan said, a little more heavily. "He approached me under the guise of flirting-- which I went along with, because I thought I was about to get murdered-- and then he dropped that on me. He said he thought it was the 'right thing to do'."

It was a game Bo had seen mage hunters play for years - but the strategy was cruel, all the same. So many of them didn't just play with their food. They tortured it. There was nothing Alexander had to gain from that approach aside from whatever pleasure he took in Leilan's discomfort and fear.

"Did he follow you?" Bo asked.

"I don't believe so," Leilan said. "Jordan, Cyrin and Raj were all there that night-- they walked me back."

Bo let out a sigh of relief.

"Good," Bo said.

Leilan nodded, pausing for a moment before he spoke again.

"I think I did my best at passing suspicion," he said. "But... it's odd that he managed to find me. Both parts of my name have changed since the time whatever link they uncovered was from. I figured I would be safe. I guess I'm not."

There was a pained uncertainty that clutched Bo's heart in turn. One right after another, he was watching his loved one's lives get upended. Leilan didn't deserve any of this. He'd already suffered so much with the loss of his family.

"I know you can't escape your assignment so easily," Bo said softly.

Leilan's position was seen. As a double agent, Leilan had a responsibility to Barlowe he couldn't so easily abandon.

"And I don't think you should, lest you rouse suspicion with any sudden changes. Alexander doesn't currently have any grounds to take you in," he said. "I know it's awful being under his nose, but we just have to hang in there until we can shake him."

Which was easy enough to say -- but Bo wasn't positive that Alexander would back down. That man was marked by something dangerous: ambition. And what made it worse was that he enjoyed his job.

All the more motivation to keep at it.

"Jordan's working close to you," Bo said. "Are you often touching base while on the job?"

Leilan nodded. "I found him at his post with the Hawkings, the day after. He knows the story in full too."

Bo nodded, relieved that Leilan had let Jordan in. He knew that Leilan was more reserved and private, but this was something his closest people needed to know. Their team needed to know, so they could look out for him.

"Lean on each other," Bo said, softer. "Keep Jordan in the know. He'll watch your back. I know he will."

Leilan nodded, his expression softening a little. "I will," he said. "I've got his back too."

"I know you do," Bo said quietly, watching Leilan as a deeper sense of heartache took hold.

The poor boy fell silent, clearly burdened by the weight of the threat of danger. Bo wished there was an easy route to this; one that took less time, one that avoided the tension, and the pain, and the stress. But nothing about any of this was easy.

It would be far too simple to beget death with death, to take an eye for and eye.

They weren't ready for another war. They weren't prepared for another Verna, or another Jord.

Why did it feel like everything was slipping through his fingers? Always, the threat of everything being taken away lingered. Everyone he loved. He couldn't let it happen.

Not to Cyrin, not to Leilan. Not to Tula, or Hendrik.

Tilting his head to the side, Bo watched Leilan with a sad, searching gaze.

"What are you feeling?" Bo asked.

"Scared," Leilan admitted. "And..." He shrugged barely. "...even a bit helpless."

Bo frowned with understanding.

"Did talking to Jordan help?" Bo asked.

"It did," Leilan said, glancing aside. "More than I thought it would."

That, at least, was good to hear. He knew both Leilan and Jordan had trouble opening up. He hated that trouble pushed them to it - but he was glad they had each other.

"I'm glad," Bo said gently. "I know you're a really good friend to him."

Leilan smiled sadly.

"He's a great guy," he said. "I love working with him. Although, I worry about him. He's just... up in that tree, watching day after day."

Bo did too.

He needed to talk to Jordan - and Eve - but particularly Jordan on the matter, to see how he was doing.

"I've been meaning to check in with him," Bo said, softer, feeling a touch of regret.

It really wasn't fair, the situation Eve put Jordan in. And Jordan wasn't vocal enough to fight against it. Bo wished he'd pushed more on the issue.

"Might be a good idea," Leilan agreed quietly. "He could use it."

Bo nodded, letting another silence fall between them.

"If you need a place to stay that feels safe," Bo offered. "You are always welcome here."

Leilan nodded, looking around the safehouse.

"I'll bear it in mind," he said with gratitude. "If worst comes to worst."

Bo met Leilan's eyes more meaningfully.

"And you don't have to wait for that," he said, softer. "For it to come to the worst."

Leilan looked a little more uncertain about that, but he nodded in confirmation. "Right. Of course."

Something in Bo's heart twisted more at that.

"It's more than alright for you to come by simply because you want to," Bo said. "You don't have to wait for your world to be crumbling to pieces."

Leilan's expression softened a touch. "I'll remember it," he promised. "Thank you."

Bo smiled fondly, opening up his arms for a hug.

"Come 'ere," he said.

Leilan smiled, leaning in and hugging bo. He gave him a pat on the back.

"Who am I to say no to a Bo hug," he said.

Bo hugged Leilan tighter.

"I'm here," he said. "If you need anything. Anything at all. I don't care how small."

"I know," Leilan assured him. "You're the best."

Bo patted Leilan's back in return, wishing that for all the belief Leilan had in him, that he'd actually take Bo up on it for once. The poor kid only ever reached out when he was at his worst. Bo just wished Leilan knew he didn't have to wait that long.

"I love you," Bo said with all his heart as he pulled away.

"I love you too," Leilan said gently, offering him a smile with a little more substance to it.

Bo smiled once more, letting them share in the short comforting silence before he broke it.

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked.

"No, actually," Leilan said.

"Why don't you stay and join us," Bo said. "I always make enough for an army. There's plenty to share."

Leilan smiled again, more gratitude in his eyes.

"You know what," he said. "Sure. That'd be great."

Bo tilted his head to the door, getting to his feet.

"Then let's hurry up before Cyrin gets to the bread," he said.

James stood in Fonzi's room, staring at himself in the mirror blankly as he took in his appearance.

He really hadn't given the masquerade any thought until today. Between cycles of migraines, pondering the death of his reputation, and avoiding all of his friends, he was surprised they even remembered him at this point, but maybe that was the point. He'd been distancing himself for so long, distance made the heart grow fonder. Or something like that.

Apparently, Hellen and Fonzi had picked this out for him, since they "knew he wasn't going to have anything ready himself." Which, was true, in this case. But he didn't really want to admit it - because if he'd intended to go to the masquerade, he would have picked out something.

Now he was obliged to go. Via the gift of an outfit.

James sighed. The suit fit him perfectly, which didn't necessarily surprise him -- they'd gotten things tailor-made for them over the years, through their travels, and Fonzi was the kind of person to ask around for his measurements. Hellen, too. The suit itself was all white, with delicately embroidered designs of the same color around the hems of his sleeves and the collar of his jacket. The mask was also white, with similar embroidered designs around the eyes. The only part of the mask that didn't cover his face was the opening around his mouth.

Overall, it was simple, elegant, and understated.

They knew what he would've chosen without him asking. For some reason, knowing that stung.

Fonzi leaned back on his bed, crossing his arms in his mostly red-and-gold attire. His jacket had koi fish embroidered on the back of it in flashy colors, and his mask had fin-like themes around the eyes.

"Look at you," Fonzi said with a shrill whistle. "Hottieeeeee."

James sharply looked over his shoulder, frowning behind his mask.

"You do look very nice, Tiberius," Hellen said on the other side of the bed, shooting him a smile. Her outfit was nautically themed as well, since her dress swept around her like a wave, coming up with one puffy white sleeve, like sea-foam. Her half-mask looked like a shell.

James huffed through his nose. He really did not need comments on his appearance.

"This masquerade is going to be so fun," Fonzi said. "Nobody will know who we are. We just get to be normal people."

"You're one to talk," Hellen said with a huff of amusement. "You're always normal."

Fonzi scoffed. "Excuse you! I am anything but!"

James looked away with a roll of his eyes, pulling the corners of his lips back into a line as he looked at himself in the floor-length mirror again, eyes landing on his wing-tipped shoes.

But then he caught sight of Ingrid behind him, entering the doorway.

Her outfit was simple. A long, sleeveless dark blue dress that hugged her body and flared out at her knees. Her half-mask was the same blue, but shaped somewhat like a heart over her eyes.

There was a fresh prick of pain, looking at her. He turned around but didn't look up at her.

"Kirk's off with his new boyfriend," Ingrid said.

"Already?" Fonzi asked.

"They're not official yet," Hellen said.

"He could've at least stayed to say goodbye," Fonzi murmured.

"He did," Ingrid said. "To me."

"He literally told us he was going to spend the evening with Shane," Hellen said flatly.

"Woe!" Fonzi said, dramatically flopping back onto the bed with his hand over his chest. "Abandoned by our own friend!"

Hellen and James both exchanged a shared slow blink.

"Right. See you downstairs, then, drama-king," Ingrid said, walking off in her heels down the hall.

Hellen patted Fonzi's stomach teasingly.

"You'll be fine," she said. "Aren't you expecting to see Mel again? You'll have to find her in a crowd of masks, though."

"Mel," Fonzi said dreamily. "My Sommer love."

"Gods, you're awful," Hellen chuckled.

Fonzi sat up, turning his attention back to James, staring at him for a moment like he was slowly coming to a revelation. Rubbing the scruff on his chin, Fonzi nodded to himself before sharing what was in his head.

"Tiberius is going to find his summer love in that outfit," Fonzi said.

"Dragons above," Hellen snorted with a laugh.

James frowned deeply, wishing Fonzi had kept that thought to himself.

"Fonzi," Hellen chided, sharper. "He just broke up with Ingrid. Give him a break."

James looked to the door, thinking about leaving, only to realize it was probably only Ingrid downstairs, and the thought of being alone at present with her was not a fond one.

"This is a break!" Fonzi said, gesturing to James with pointed hands. "Come on. Tiberius. Work with me, here. A rebound is a break, right?"

James wished Fonzi would stop talking. He furrowed his brows behind his mask.

"That's... no," he said.

"Come on, man," Fonzi said, leaning forward onto his knees. "Look at you. That mask was made for kissing. That's why the mouth is free."

James frowned deeper. "It's for drinking and eating," he said.

"No, it was definitely designed for kissing," Fonzi said.

"Let's be sensitive--" Hellen tried again.

"I, for one," Fonzi interrupted. "Think Tiberius deserves a rebound! There! I said it!"

James wished he could flee from this cursed manor where sound traveled through the walls. Good grief, Ingrid probably heard that from downstairs. Fonzi was stumbling over emotional trip-wires without a care in the world for the sake of a joke.

"How about we all stop talking now," James said firmly.

Before Fonzi could recover from his scoff, Carter stepped into the doorway, wearing a golden suit embroidered with similarly toned patterns and ivory highlights. His mask was ivory as well, covering the upper half of his face.

"What are you guys sitting around for? Caspar's waiting for us downstairs," Carter said with an excited smile. "Let's go!"

Fonzi sprung up from the bed. "Oh, shoot! Right!"

Hellen started to follow after him, and James trailed behind as they parted into the hall.

"And hey," Carter said over his shoulder, meeting James's eyes. "Good luck with the rebound, Tiberius."

And at that point, James was convinced that Carter planted that idea in Fonzi's head, and said it loud on purpose.

Gods.

He ducked his head down, hoping that he could find a corner to hide in when they got to the masquerade while the others flouted themselves about. If he had it his way, he'd stay home.

But life was never kind enough to give him that freedom, so instead, he had to go to party: his least favorite function.

Normally, Bo loved parties.

He loved people. He loved life. He loved the life that he saw in people's eyes, and he loved to soak it all in: the lights, the chatter, the drinks, the feasting. He loved the dancing, the cheer, and the light that shone in the hearts of everyone together, feeding on the energy of their friends, their family, and their loved ones. There was something so beautiful about connection; and he still held that to be true.

But his heart was heavy, and today, he couldn't shake it, even when he tried to.

Astrid's imminent death felt more real, now that her kids knew, and his heart was breaking all over again. There was no good way to handle this sort of news, but he could already see the paths each child was charting for themselves, without them even knowing - because they were all so different. The Ashlunds, no doubt, were marked by their intelligence, cunning, and love for people: but Astrid's strength had never been open communication, and that not only created so many blind spots for her, but it created so many traps for the children to stumble over.

They didn't know what to do with themselves. If he was honest, neither did he. At least, not at the moment.

Bo leaned back against the brick wall, champagne glass in hand, thinking back to his earlier arrival with Astrid.

They'd shared a dance. He'd convinced her to eat something. Not an hour passed before her strength failed her - and this time, she wasn't able to push through.

That was the part that hurt. Not that Astrid was forced to rest, but that he knew she didn't even have the strength to resist like he knew she wanted to. He saw how it broke her, losing her strength, and her freedom.

Bo had taken Astrid home early, with the youngest kids, Ulf, Vik, and Tove. The masquerade went on well into the night, and many parents and families went home early anyway, but this stung: it was going to be a summer solstice these kids would always remember as the one where they realized their mother was dying. That had the potential to stain the holiday for them for years to come.

And he wasn't ready just yet to think about what had to be done when Astrid was gone, even though he knew what was necessary in his gut.

Gods.

He'd have to retire.

Skirting along the perimeter of the street corner, Caspar took the spot beside him. He was dressed neater than usual in a dusty red button-down under a set of dark suspenders. His hair was shorn drastically shorter-- done out of desperation, Bo knew, to beat the desert heat-- and his beard had been noticeably trimmed too.

Back straight, hands folded in behind, and eyes scanning the vibrant crowd, it was as if he was working the field as Bo's partner again.

Bo missed those days.

"Hey," his friend eventually said, voice soft as he turned an attentive look his way, "you good?"

Bo managed a small smile. "No," he admitted quietly. "Not really."

Caspar's eyes saddened a little. "I'm so sorry," he murmured empathetically. He hesitated, looking like he wanted to ask more about it, but then glanced out over the crowd again. "Are you feeling up for this kind of scene?" he said instead.

Bo looked out at the crowds.

Further in, Raj and Mel were dancing in front of the band playing music native to the sands. Several drummers were playing together at once, hitting hand drums and djembes while a vocalist loudly sang a melody that the dancing crowd joined in on. The dancing was lively - full of turns, hooked arms, and spinning skirts.

Somewhere in there, Robin was drowning in the crowd, probably tripping over his two left feet - but he was too short to see past everyone's heads.

Earlier, he'd seen Cyrin and Tula together, and briefly, Eve with Jordan - who was later seen hopping between free-drink stands with Leilan. Hendrik had come with Dallas, and Lyall was floating around somewhere with Santiago. Hild, he'd spotted earlier with Mel Sommers - one of her friends from the clothing shop, and it looked like they were having fun.

Truth was, Bo wasn't feeling festive, but he didn't want to leave, either.

Being alone like this felt worse.

"I'd rather be here, with you guys," he said softly.

Quirking a small, affectionate smile, Caspar gave his shoulder a warm pat. "It really is good to spend time with you again." With another pat, he withdrew again and added, "We can talk more about later if you need."

Bo huffed. "You're working tonight, right?" he asked.

Caspar inclined his head. "Yeah."

"If you're not too exhausted after you get your kiddos tucked in bed," Bo said with a little smile of amusement at his own humor, but it faded pretty quickly. "It-- it would be nice to talk."

"Then I'll be there," Caspar answered resolutely.

Bo pressed his lips into a small pout for a moment, then he pulled Caspar into a tight hug. Maybe it was a little impulsive, but, he'd missed him. A lot.

A lot a lot.

Huffing a quiet laugh, Caspar was quick to squeeze him back comfortingly. Bo let the hug linger until the knot in his chest finally released; which ended up being some time. But he didn't really care. He wasn't in a hurry.

Letting go with a small pat on Caspar's back, he nodded to himself, feeling his eyes mist a bit. He was kind of hoping, though, that he could hang in there just a little while longer. He took a sip of champange from the glass he'd managed to keep steady in his hand, and then let out a small sigh.

"Have you had a chance to dance yet?" he asked.

After watching him for another moment with open care, Caspar let out another short, more wry breath as he gave a cross between a smile and a grimace. "It's better I don't," he answered.

Bo looked to Caspar with a small grin - half teasing, half understanding.

"Yeah," he said. "Probably for the best."

Caspar nudged him with his elbow. "Have you?"

"Earlier," Bo said. "With the Ashlunds."

Glancing out at the stage, the band had finished a song, and there was a brief lull before they started the next one.

He tried not to smile too sadly. "You remember Astrid, right?"

Caspar had followed Bo's gaze. "The doctor?"

Bo's smile grew, but his heart ached. "Yeah," he said. "The doctor."

"Well, that's nice," Caspar said with a sincere smile. "How is she? And her kids?"

Bo pressed his lips into a thin frown, only managing to nod. He patted Caspar's shoulder. Slowly, his heart visibly sinking in the way his expression fell, Caspar nodded his understanding.

"I figure I'm out for the rest of the night," Bo said instead. He'd have to tell Caspar at a later time. "Let the kids dance off into the night instead."

Eyes flicking off to the side, Caspar stood straighter again, then leaned in a bit to whisper, "And you're sure you don't have one more in you?"

"I thought you said you weren't going to dance," Bo said, a bit confused.

Pressing his lips into a hard line, Caspar just elbowed his side, with slightly more force than before.

"Ow," Bo said, rubbing his side. "What was that for?"

Caspar pointedly tilted his head to Bo's right. His blind spot. Turning his head, he expected to see something urgent: and, in a way, it was. It just wasn't at all what he was expecting.

Mel Aradis was weaving through the crowd, dressed in white and gold, like some kind of goddess. Bo froze when he realized she was walking straight towards him.

Oh.

That was why Caspar. Uh. That--

"You've been hiding away here all night since you got back from the clinic," Mel said with a hand on her hip, looking up at Bo with a coy smile. "Are you planning on staying here the rest of the night? It's not even halfway over yet."

Bo stared at her, wanting to be normal and respond, but for some reason, nothing came to him. Mel looked over to Caspar, raising a questioning brow. Caspar glanced sideways at Bo. Then simply elbowed his side one more time.

"Oh," Bo spat out. "Sorry. Yes. I -- well, I wasn't planning on--"

"Are you open to a change of plans?" Mel asked.

Bo's brain delayed again.

"What I'm saying is," Mel said. "I want you to dance with me."

And frankly, that sentence made Bo's mind come to a stuttering stop. Maybe it was just the week he'd had. Maybe it was the champange. Or maybe it was everything, hitting him all at once. It wasn't that her question - not that it was framed as one - was unwanted. It made his stomach flutter, even. But there were too many emotions competing at the same time.

Grief, sadness, worry -- now, something hopeful, that he was honestly too pained to entertain.

He wanted to, really. But. How could he, if he could already see how it was going to end?

"I--" he finally managed to say.

After the odd second that followed Bo's voice falling off, Caspar piped up, "Just needs a minute to hydrate." He offered Mel a warm smile and nod. "He'll meet you out there."

Mel quirked a brow Caspar's way and flashed Bo a slightly worried, but hopeful look.

"Alright, then," she said, turning away. "I'll see you soon."

And the awkward silence that passed in the few seconds she walked off felt more tense than he'd wanted it to.

He was nervous. Why was he nervous?

Stepping away only briefly, Caspar returned with a cup of water and put it in Bo's hand. "Just one more," he said in encouragement, "and--"

"I think I've forgotten how to dance," Bo said, hoping maybe that Caspar would believe him or something. He took a long gulp of water, emptying the glass.

"You didn't," Caspar assured him, "not in just the past hour."

"She's leagues smarter than me," he said, reaching for another excuse.

"Which will only make you smarter," Caspar offered as a counterpoint.

"She's too pretty," he tried instead.

"Too pretty?" Caspar echoed dubiously.

Bo winced, handing his empty champange and water glasses to Caspar, regretting that train of thought, knowing how dumb it sounded.

"Okay, I'm going," he said.

"And you will be great," Caspar replied warmly, tipping the empty water glass his way.

Bo forced himself forward, not letting himself look back at Caspar, because then he'd probably chicken out. A bit stiffly, he moved through the crowd and found Mel again, who was waiting for him at the edge of the circle of dancers, looking up at him with a small smile.

He could see the kindness in it - she wasn't entirely unaware of everything going on. He hadn't had a chance to tell her about Astrid, but he knew she picked up on things, even if he didn't say them. There was no smugness to her, and even though she'd been very forward, her eyes were warm and inviting.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she said, softer, probably noticing his hesitance to come over.

Bo deflated a bit. "It's not that," he said, wishing he knew how to explain everything in one sentence.

Mel tilted her head to the side, her eye searching. Softer.

"I just thought... maybe a dance could help you get your mind off of things," she said. "Just for a few minutes."

Bo took in a deep breath, mustering a real smile this time. It was so hard to say no to those eyes.

He reached out, gently taking her hand in his.

"I think you might be right," he said.

"So, have you finally decided if you're going tonight?" Jordan asked.

It was a simple question, and one Eve had anticipated Jordan ask for a while now. He had asked her if she planned on going exactly one week ago now, before the festival started, and mere hours after the party theme was announced to be a masquerade. At the time, she had tentatively agreed, but the question hadn't left the back of her mind since it wormed in.

Eve rifled through papers, tapping the edges against the desk to straighten the edges. "I can be convinced," she said casually, filing the papers away in the desk drawer. "Though, if you want to make it in time, you'll have to leave now." She flicked her eyes at the papers, then at him, then back to a different set of papers that she picked up, reorganizing. "Your outfit is at your place, correct? Traveling to the South End is a long journey from here. And the event itself is in City Center. Have you accommodated for that additional travel time?"

"Have I accommodated for the additional travel time," Jordan repeated in a mocking tone, imitating her voice. "Yes I have, and I will get there in a timely manner on my donkey."

Eve stood still and stared at him blankly, unreacting.

"Wallace. My donkey," Jordan said again, like she'd forgotten or not heard him.

"Yes," she affirmed, irritated. "I know your donkey's name."

"I'm going to be there and look amazing," Jordan said. "And I'm going to have a great time. I just want to know if I should wait to meet up for you when I get there since you still haven't given me a straight answer."

Eve filed the second set of papers away, slowly opening the drawer to neatly press the bundled report inside. "When does the event start?" she asked instead.

Jordan gave her a flat look. "You know when it starts," he said, annoyed. "You know when everything starts."

"Can you at least confirm that it starts at 1900?" she asked impatiently.

"Yes, it starts at 1900," he said reluctantly.

"Yes. Good." Eve nodded, avoiding his searching eyes, instead brushing her hand against the desk, wishing she had been slower at the reorganization since she now had nothing to do with her hands. And so she meekly blurted out, "...I'll be there."

Jordan flew several feet up in the air as he jumped, spun, and landed on the floor with a pump of his fist and a delighted: "Yesssssss. I knew it!"

"Really, Jordan," she cut in before he could spew any more excitement, "you ought to leave now if you want to make it in time. I'll meet you there."

Jordan smiled, running for the door with giddy, mischievious laughter but said nothing more as he fled the scene.

Eve sighed, fully melting on top of her desk. Her hair spattered across the wood, concealing her face. Jordan had left, and yet, it still felt like she had to hide...

From what, exactly? Who? There were a few people she wanted to avoid, yes, though most of them were not in Ruddlan.

One was, though.

Shane.

What if they crossed paths? She couldn't face him again without completely losing control of her emotions. She couldn't face him after what happened between them. She couldn't face him after how she treated him. It truly was for the best that they have time and distance apart, though lately this was becomingly increasingly difficult due to the nature of her work.

She needed to do her due diligence. It was best not to go.

Yet... at the same time...

A bit haphazardly, Eve sprung out of her chair, hastily weaving out of the office, down the winding hall, into the lobby, down another hall, and into her room. She nearly slammed the door behind her, but thought better of it at the last second, stopping the momentum and then quietly letting the door latch into place.

Taking in a shuddered deep breath, Eve slowly, shyly, peeked over her shoulder towards the black dress that hung over the closet door. The dress was pure simplistic elegance: all black, high-quality, sleeveless, and high-neck. It was hemmed to her length and fitted to her waist. She often wore loose-fitting and baggier clothes, and so it was quite a different change of pace to wear something more tight and restrictive.

On top of the dresser perched her chosen accessories: silver hooped earrings, strappy white heels with black tips, and a nearly full-face black mask with intricate white embroidery patterns. It was vital to her that the mask was concealing, hiding her identifying features above her lips.

With another deep breath, Eve forced herself to move towards the mirror, uncertainly standing in front of it with different angles of her body. She brushed her fingers through her hair, evening it out, suddenly feeling uncomfortably self-conscious about everything: her dress, her face, her weight...

Shaking away the thoughts, Eve snatched the dress out from the hanger, its velvety fabric revitalizing her confidence again.

She needed this. This would be good for her. This was safe.

And, admittedly-- it was fun.



Yes. Eve took a carriage. She had money, and she could afford it.

And it also felt strangely good to step out in heels, the short slit of her dress revealing her leg first, then her full standing body. She patted down her dress and then adjusted her mask, immediately hit with the heat of the air, melodic brass notes, and laughter of colorful people, and aromas of diverse foods. Glasses were clinked, dresses were ruffled, and leftover fireworks boomed scattered throughout the night sky.

Barlowe had finished given her speech, which meant the rest of the night was devoted to socializing, eating, and drinking. But first...

Jordan said he would meet her between Banner Street and Opal Avenue. Her heels clacked behind her as she stepped through the cobblestone path, scanning the dancing and socializing crowd for Jordan.

Eve was deliberate on her path, swerving around others early to avoid bumping into anyone, thus reducing accidental run-ins-- especially with anyone who remotely resembled Shane. Regardless, Eve expended most of her energy on finding Jordan. He was taller than her, even in her heels-- and he was color coordinated with light and dark blue accents. Predictably, he was nautical themed, though the look did fit him well.

There, on the corner of the two streets, stood a man who matched the description, along and searching through the crowd. Hastily, Eve approached from behind, her heels quietly pattering behind her. Jordan didn't seem to notice, even when she slid in to stand next to him.

And so she cleared her throat, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Jordan," she called firmly.

Jordan whirled around, looking down at her, clearly not recognizing her at first until his eyes widened with realization, and his face lit up with surprise and excitement.

"Eve!" he said with a little laugh. "Oh my gods, you look incredible! You actually came!"

Once again, Eve was grateful for the concealment properties of the mask. Her reddening cheeks were easily hidden behind it.

"You look handsome yourself," she opted to say pleasantly instead with a bare bow of her head.

"Not next to you I don't!" Jordan laughed, pulling her into a half-hug. "Way to upstage me. I'm going to have to ditch you so people will actually look at me."

Eve mustered a half-smile, briefly setting her arm behind his back, but pulling away first. "If you want. It would be good for both of us to meet new people, anyways," she agreed.

Jordan scoffed. "You, meet new people? Wish I could stick around to see that," he teased.

"Do not," she said flatly as her only stern warning.

Jordan smirked, patting the top of her head once in brotherly condescension, but commented no more on it.

"Fine," he said. "Go have fun fishing. I want to hear all about it after."

"Likewise." Eve paused, loosely clasping her hands in front of her again. "Oh, and Jordan?"

"Yes, your highness," Jordan said with a tilt of his head.

Eve pressed her lips together, not amused. "Don't use fried food as a method to flirt with women."

"Noted," Jordan said, spinning around on his heels. "Since you obviously know all about this, with all the maidens you're bringing in daily."

She pressed her lips together even tigher, holding back a snappy remark. Since even Jordan didn't need to know about the private affairs of her life.

"Good luck!" he said, glancing over his shoulder with a chuckle as he walked off into the crowd, leaving her with one last wave.

Eve sighed, unimpressed with his antics.

Regardless...

Now by herself, she smoothly stepped out of the alley, especially since it reeked of fried meats, a scent she'd rather avoid having cling to her dress. She eyed a nearby booth that offered red wine by the glass for passerbys to take, wondering if she needed the liquid courage.

It had been too long since she put herself out there like this. She hadn't done anything like this in Ruddlan before. Eve preferred to not drink since it often gave her headaches the next morning, but...

She had to hold something, especially since she was by herself. Though, it wouldn't be that difficult to stand around and wait for...

No. No, no. That was passive. She wasn't going to wait around for someone to find her. That limited her options. Eve had a goal, and she was determined to take matters into her own hands to achieve said goal. Her opportunities were much more limited if she didn't take initiative.

With a grateful half-smile, Eve nodded her thanks as she grabbed the wine glass in passing, walking with purpose to a small clearing by herself so she could scope out her options with a clearer view.

An upbeat Desert Sands song was just closing out, the dancers in the plaza finishing their last spins. Eve considered jumping in, but considering she had just arrived, she preferred to watch and wait. The crowd consisted of couples, people who only wanted to dance, and people who were looking to connect. She was looking for the latter.

Eve scanned the crowd as they dispersed, her gaze naturally settling towards people who were walking towards her. There were a few who caught her eye, but there was one man in particular who walked with confidence and style. With a bright grin, the man pulled back his breezy wavy brown hair as he sauntered to the wine stand Eve stood next to, noting the crimson vine-like detailing of his flattering dark suit. The red contrasted finely with the matte maroon of his mask, containing impressively detailed carvings of feathers and a head of a bird.

"Ancient legends say that the phoenix rises once a year in the Desert Sun on the day of the summer solstice," Eve said smoothly as he swept up a wine glass, giving him one last look up and down. "I didn't think I'd ever see it in action until now."

Tilting his head, the man quirked a pleasantly surprised grin. "A mythographer in our midst?"

"No," Eve said with a slight shrug, crossing an arm. "Just someone who enjoys phoenixes."

He huffed a laugh as he raised his glass to his lips. "I should count myself lucky to happen upon equally rare company. For the raven, the bearer of daylight, has nary a moment to rest from her noble commitment, nevermind dance by moonlight."

Eve felt the edge of her lips curve into an amused smirk. "How poetic. The bird dances and sings," she teased.

The man's grin broadened. "You are quite right, actually," he confessed.

"You're certainly full of surprises," she said with a small smile. "But hopefully, your name isn't one of them."

"Ah! Where are my manners." Setting down his glass, he bent at the waist in a shallow bow, and offered a hand with a exaggerated flourish. "Lyall Ashlund, at your service."

Ashlund. As in, the clinic? As in, son of Astrid Ashlund who was head of clinic and Bo's good friend?

This could be nothing. But frankly, even the fact that there could be a connection was an instant turn off. That and multiple rings he wore, one of which was a nicer silver on his ring finger. Success rate with Lyall seemed low. She wasn't going to take her chances... especially towards engaged men who may or may not have a connection with her supervisor.

"It was nice to meet you, Lyall," she replied pleasantly, though she had no heart on her words. She inclined her head and lifted her glass, ready to turn away. "Enjoy the rest of your festival day."

Straightening, Lyall incline his head, his playful smile turning polite in turn. "You as well, mystery miss. T'was a pleasure."

Mystery miss. How quaint. Eve rather liked to be hidden under this unknown, unnamed alias.

Glancing back, Eve noticed another man cozying up to Lyall. She raised a brow a that-- not because of Lyall's assumed partner choice, but because it was just her luck that the first person she talked had some connection with Bo, taken, and liked men.

She didn't need to move very far to find a spot for herself. The music restarted, and a familiar Ruddlan classic rang in the air. Masked assorted colors paired up and spun in circles, but Eve wasn't wanting to join in quite yet. In fact, there was one person in particular who stood out from a crowd, catching her eyes immediately. He stood out because of two reasons: he wore a plain white linen outfit with no mask, and he was ungodly attractive-- so much so that Eve had to ask herself why he would be alone in the first place.

Curiosity ate at her, especially since he seemed to pay her zero mind, even when she inched closer every five seconds. Until, finally, she was close enough to comment, "I take it you're not much of a festive goer."

Finally, he glanced her way, though just barely. He lifted his red wine glass a little higher, responding, "I am not."

That didn't exactly leave much for her to work with. Perhaps charm or banter wasn't his specialty. Eve was more than glad to skip the small talk.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Connie," he answered with a nod.

No last name. And possibly a nickname, too.

"Eve," she said back, mirroring his nod. "Did you come here by yourself?"

Connie shook his head. "No. My younger brother is here too."

She slowly nodded. Not quite the question she was asking, since the undertones were about potential dates, but she supposed he was just being honest. It was sweet, at least, that he arrived with his younger brother.

"Where is he now?" she asked curiously, wondering if his brother was just as dry and charming as Connie.

"He is likely by the musicians," he answered, peering over the crowds.

Just in time, the song came to a hearty stop, sending a lighthearted applause across the floor. And as if this was supposed to be his cue, Connie nodded to her and simply said, "Goodbye," as his parting farewell.

Dumbstruck, Eve stared at the back of Connie's head as he walked in a straight line towards the parting crowd, perhaps towards the musicians, but she had no way to know what was going through his head. Was there anything? How could someone that chiseled also be that dull?

That meant two failed encounters in a row, though Connie's rejection stung more than Eve would like to admit, considering he walked away from her.

Maybe she needed another drink...

Third try. Second glass.

Eve felt the interested glances of others nearby, mostly men of which she held no attraction towards, and so she ignored them completely. She wasn't looking for any one person in particular; instead, she was purely relying on intuition and instinct. It was a similar feeling to her process of choosing random subjects to study and draw, but for romantic interest instead. She was following her heart, as those who were inclined towards cliche sayings would say.

The band was concluding an upbeat song as she locked her gaze on one person in particular. A broad-shouldered, muscular man with slicked back auburn hair, donning a fully white suit that was tailored for his physique. The white seemed to shine brighter than the many lanterns around them, impressively accented by black embellishments and embroidery at the hems. More curious, however, was the nearly full-face mask he wore: a matching white, also with detailed intricate black designs.

The artistic interpretation of him was what Eve found even more intriguing. It appeared that they had chosen a completely opposite color scheme with one another, down to the embroidery.

She felt her intuition flare up, feeling the fickle urge to talk to him.

Guzzling the glass of champagne, Eve casually strolled towards the bar, setting the empty glass next to the seat of the auburn-haired man. She slid onto the the seat, tapping the rim of the glass to silently signal to the bartender that she would like a refill.

"Have you ever heard of the legend of gin and gan?" she asked smoothly. She was still focused on getting the bartender's attention, but could feel the auburn-haired man's attention on her.

The man looked up from his drink, looking surprised that she was talking to him when he met her eyes. For just a second, his eyes flicked up and down, taking in her outfit.

He smirked, just a little, and huffed a faint laugh through his nose.

"I have," he answered. "The spirits of day and night, light and dark, respectively."

So he knew his Goulon folklore, then. She noted that he seemed to be a man of culture and class.

"I was wondering if you could help me recount it," she said despite already knowing the legend extensively.

"Testing me on my folklore," the man said.

Eve smirked, nodding to the bartender after they poured a glass of white wine. She slid the cup closer, angling herself to be closer to the man. "Are you up for a challenge?"

"You want a full retelling, then?" he said with another huff of amusement.

"Half a retelling," she answered. "I recount the story from Gan's perspetive, and you recount it from Gin's. We compare and ask questions, since this is our own interpretation. Care to indulge?"

The mask covered everything but the man's mouth and chin, but his slight head cock denoted curiosity.

"Sure," he said.

Eve nodded, setting her elbow against the counter, hand relaxed around the rim of the glass as she began recounting the story. At least, from one side of it.

"I'll begin," she announced. "I am Gan, spirit of the night. I guide the moon and the stars across the expansive universe. It is dark and cold here, but it is my sworn duty to lead and protect the followers of the night. In my path, I see a radiant light, but the distance is too far, and I dare not change course. And so I march towards the darkness, time and time again, until the cold shatters my brittle heart, and I crumble within myself, failing my duty to bring the night."

Satisfied with her answer, Eve picked up her wine glass, tilting it towards him. "Your turn."

Inclining his head to her with a faint smile, he briefly lifted his wine glass and took another sip before setting it to the side.

"And I am Gin," he said. "When you pull back the darkness, I bring in the light. I carry the sun on my back, and I hold it in its place. The day lingers on, and I see the shadows, left in your wake, but I cannot reach you. My arms ache from the sun's weight, but I know no one else can carry it but I. Longing, I wait for your darkness to come and relieve me from my post, but I am left wanting."

Eve found herself tilting her head slowly, intently listening with greater intrigue with each passing word. He spoke like a poet, using romantic language as embellishment. Though, considering she had asked him to recount a romantic folklore, perhaps that came to no surprise.

Even though she had only picked this folklore because of their color contrasts.

He paused, gently grasping for the neck of his wineglass.

"If it is your heart that fails you," he said. "You should not bear that alone. Duty compels me, but love matters most. I will break the barriers meant for us and close the distance."

Well. This got awfully sentimental, very fast. Still, she held her curious gaze, smiling softly and taking a small sip of her drink.

"Question," she began, setting the glass down on the counter again. "Does the original documentation paint Gin to be this romantic, cliche, and cheesy?"

The man bit his lower lip for a moment and let out a huff through his lips as he looked down, shrugging.

"Am I still answering as a light spirit?" he asked.

"I would love to hear what Gin would think," Eve said smoothly, "but I would much rather hear what you think, Mister...?"

The man smiled. "James," he said. "And you?"

"Eve," she answered. Then was immediately hit with the realization of the coincidence, considering that Gan brought evenings.

James scoffed, smiling a bit wider, showing his teeth.

"And you accuse me of being cliche," he said.

She held up a hand in surrender. "Yes, I now realize the coincidence. Though I can't lie: I do love this folk story. Consider it being highly influential in my life."

"But Eve's not your real name," James said, tilting his head down as he looked at her with a small smirk.

Observant. Even if he was being playful.

"...Yes," she said slowly, smiling in turn. "Eve is a nickname."

One that was bestowed upon her by Shane. The fleeting thought left as quick as it came when she followed up by blurting out, "Evaline is my actual name."

It felt strange to say this again. She hadn't used her original name since she left home years ago and rebranded herself. The dark memory stung, but she pushed it away, keeping up appearances.

"Well," James said. "Do you have a preference, then, for what I call you? So long as it's not Gan."

"Please, no," she said with a soft laugh, shaking her head.

Eve only had a second to think about this. And in that second, she already felt her heart rate quickening-- perhaps from the thrill, perhaps because her conversation with James was going well, or perhaps because it felt strangely good to be called by an old, familiar name with a fresh new light.

"Evaline is fine," she answered impulsively, not regretting it. "Let's avoid the cliches."

"Evaline it is, then," he said, taking another sip of wine.

"I take it back. The cliches, I mean," she amended as he drank, waving her hand between them. "I couldn't help but notice that, together, we are the embodiment of Gin and Gan. And so naturally, I couldn't resist asking you to play along. Well done, by the way." She smiled, tilting her head. "You have a beautiful way with words."

James's smile turned a bit more shy, and he looked down again.

"Thank you," he said. "I thought it was clever; the reference, to Gin and Gan. What with it being the week of the summer solstice and all."

"I had the same thoughts," Eve mused. "Between our outfit selection, familiarity of the story, and today being the summer solstice..." She hummed, swirling the wine glass. "You don't suppose there's a word for this type of uncanny encounter, do you?"

James sat up a little straighter, tilting his head to the side, observing her with a faint smile.

"A coincidence?" she offered, smile turning teasing.

"Happenstance?" he said playfully.

"Destiny?" she countered back.

"Or perhaps, the word you're looking for," James said. "Is 'fate?'"

"Mm." Eve nodded, picking up the glass. "Yes, that's the word. Thank you." With a pleased smile, she lifted her wine glass, tilting it towards him. "A toast to fate, then?"

Smirking, his eyes glinted with amusement as he lifted his glass in turn, tapping the rim of his to hers.

"To fate," he said softly.

After a clink of their glasses, Eve brought the glass to her lips, taking a sip of the white wine. Then another for good measure, considering this interaction was going quite well.

James, however, took a much longer drink than any of his prior modest sips. When he set his glass back down, it was almost empty. This merely prompted her to take another sip.

"Would you let me treat you to a dance this evening, Evaline?" James asked.

And then another one. Releasing the cup from her lips, Eve took in a quiet breath, noted she hadn't quite guzzled it down as fast as James did, but it would suffice.

"Just when I was beginning to think that I'd have to ask you that question," she said with a sly smile, setting the glass on the counter and then offering her hand for him to take. "Yes. Gladly."

James got to his feet and took her hand. His hands were coarse and calloused against hers, but gentle as he led her out to the dancefloor.

"Are you familiar with the moonlit waltz?" James asked.

Right on cue, the string quartet quieted, holding a harmonious long note as the harpist played an angelic glissando before just a breath of a pause and plucking the familiar introduction of "Waltz of the Falling Leaves", a famous song played during the autumn solstice. Not quite as fitting for the summer solstice event, but regardless, Eve enjoyed the charming and dreamy mood set by the song to be danced.

"As familiar as this song," she said, feeling a smile tug her lips. "Which I know well enough to know that the pace starts off deceivingly slow. Are you up for the challenge?"

James smiled with a knowing sense of excitement, and his smile was the fullest it had yet been. He inclined his head to the crowd, pulling her in.

"So long as you are with me," he said.

Eve smiled, nodding once as she softly pushed against his hand to establish connection. She slid her other hand on his shoulder, realizing just now that she was a few inches taller with her heels, but that didn't stop her from being any less captivated.

"You have me," she said with a slight tease in her voice. "And I'll follow your lead."

The harpist strummed the notes quickly, prompting the start of the dances. With his hand around her waist, James pulled her into a waltz spin. For only a few seconds, it felt like they could spin around the dance floor without bounds-- but this was quickly broken when more and more couples joined in, rhythmically circling around the plaza with their partner.

James was quick to adapt, taking smaller steps. Eve couldn't help but notice that he pulled her in closer, too. Had she more time to think during the dance, she may have more deeply wondered if this out of practicality or out of intimacy.

Like most children of political or affluent families, Eve learned all of the styles of partner dancing. She quite enjoyed the Kingdom's classically structured rules, but it was not everyday that she danced with someone who was as intimately familiar with them.

"Are you from the Moonlight Kingdom?" she curiously asked with a smile and tilt of her head as he walked her into quarter spins around the dance circle.

"I grew up there," he said. "You?"

"Goulon, but also the Isles," she answered.

James smirked. "That explains the folklore fascination," he said playfully.

"That's only one folklore reference," Eve said just as playfully.

"It's also probably the most romantic one out there," James said, more teasing.

"I suppose you'll have to wait and hear more romantic references, then," Eve answered smoothly. "Folklore or not."

"Giving me something to look forward to," James said with a soft smile.

Like with any new dancer, connection takes time to build. But with James, it felt as though Eve understood his every suggestion. He was a strong, firm lead at first-- but just as she was learning to adapt to him, he was learning to adapt to her as well, growing softer and more gentle with every passing second. She could tell his confidence was increasing-- she could see it in his broad, charming smile-- which only instilled even more confidence in her.

James was a dancer who prioritized his follower, giving them the time, attention, and creativity to shine. This certainly was not a measure of his romantic capability as a partner, though she did take this as a positive sign of humility and grace, since it seemed that he put others before himself. After all, he was having fun, listening to the music, and watching her with a kind smile.

At the end of the song, James grinned and spun her into a steady wrap, spreading his legs into a firm stands so that her hip could lean against his side. Eve softly laughed, cut shortly by a pleasant surprise when he then spun her body to his other side so she could lean into a low dip. Just in time for the last note being held.

Eve couldn't help but grin softly, peering up at his mysterious mask, and intensely wondering who was the mystery man behind it. It was only a fleeting thought before James pulled her back up. She kept her arms around his shoulders, keenly aware of his own coarse hand resting against her back.

"It's been a long time since I've gotten to dance like this," James said, softer.

His hold on her loosened, but lingered. She kept her curious gaze, unmoving.

"Thank you," he said. "That was the most fun I've had in... well, I don't know when."

Eve loosened her grip, sliding her hands down his shoulder until their elbows connected. She rested her palms against his forearms, noting the texture of the tweed fabric under her thumb.

"And it doesn't have to end," she said more confidently, noting the color of his eyes. A comfortable deep blue. She wrapped her hand around his forearm a little more firmly to hold him, softly adding, "In fact, I'd say that was only a warm up."

Though James's mask covered almost the entirety of his face, his eyes were transparent. Eve had a strong supposition that if she took his mask off in this moment, that his face had turned a deep shade of red.

It seemed she'd gotten him flustered, because he parted his lips, but didn't manage to get any words out.

Did she... misread his intentions? No, his intentions were clear as day. Perhaps he was shy. Eve was still getting to know James, but it didn't seem entirely unlikely that he was shy, soft-spoken, and modest.

"But I am also enjoying your company as is," she quickly added, finally sliding her arms away so they perched in front of her, smiling pleasantly. "Whether we dance, drink, or converse. I enjoy your company."

James's smile returned, a little more confident again.

"I'm enjoying yours too," he said timidly.

So, he was shy, then. It was strangely endearing, considering she had seen him confidently clever mere minutes ago.

"Have you had anything to eat this evening?" he asked.

Eve actually wasn't hungry, but regardless, she shook her head since it was also the truth. "I have not. Have you?"

"No," he answered. "I haven't had a chance to look at what food vendors are out tonight. Did you see anything that appealed to you?"

Eve hummed, crossing an arm. "As fate would have it, the Goulon stands did catch me eye. If you're hungry, we can venture over there and tempt fate some more. But I'd be happy to go wherever you'd like to eat as well."

"I... actually am quite hungry," he admitted with a bashful smile. "Lead the way?"



Eve wasn't always sentimental, but there truly was something unmatched about eating familiar foods from her youth. She quite enjoyed soup noodles sprinkled with tofu, mushrooms, and green onions, and though she wasn't hungry, Eve ordered the smallest bowl they had. Which contrasted quite a bit with James's order of the three extra large portions of the meatiest soup noodles the vendor had.

"I don't know if that will be enough to fill you," she said plainly, watching as he slurped down the noodles as if he hadn't eaten in three days. Which... maybe was the case. Unless he always ate like this. She didn't know.

James was mid-slurping a spoonful of pho when he looked up at her, a bit doe-eyed. When he finished the slurp he smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"Guess we'll find out," he said, filling his spoon again. "So, I'm guessing it's not too big of an assumption to say you're from Goulon, or at least lived there for a time?"

"That's right," she answered with a nod, stirring her soup spoon in the broth. "Have you ever been?"

"No, actually," he said. "I've always wanted to, though. Is there anywhere you'd recommend visiting?"

"Well..." Eve didn't really consider Goulon home anymore, but it was a valid question. She repeatedly picked up her spoon, filling it with broth, then dumping it again. "If you're visiting, you'll have to get through Gateway anyways, unless you arrive by ship. Gateway is a lot like Ruddlan in that it's rich with culture and diversity, but tradition is celebrated more over fusion. You'll find a lot of tasty dishes here." She pointed her spoon towards his bowls for extra emphasis before continuing. "But if you're looking for soft white sands and a big city, I recommend visiting Port Akerstad during the Autumn Equinox. Practically the entire country rests to celebrate the beginning of the season."

James smiled faintly as he listened, all the while consuming his soup at a steady pace.

"A bit like Ruddlan," he said.

"Yes," she confirmed with a small smile. "A bit like Ruddlan, except we celebrate shorter days and have unlimited bodies of water."

"And it's cooler," James said.

"I'm sure it's not as cool as the winter solstice celebration in the Moonlight Kingdom," she said.

James waved his hand dismissively.

"Too much snow and ice," he said. "I much prefer this."

"From cold unending winters to hot dry heat," Eve mused. "What brings you to the deserts of Ruddlan?"

James clicked his tongue, and let out a sigh, stacking two already-emptied bowls as he slid the last one he was working through closer to him. This merely prompted Eve to hurry up with her own bowl, which she was only halfway through to finishing.

"Work," he said. "Which, to be completely honest, I'd rather not talk about. It's nice to not have to think about it for a night."

"Understandable. I feel the same way."

Considering they both chose masks of increased anonymity, this came to no surprise. Of course, Eve liked to hide behind the mask. But at some point, it was going to come off, especially if they... well. You know.

There was also the midnight event. Not everyone did it, but regardless, it was Ruddlan tradition to reveal the face behind the mask at midnight. It was late evening and still the beginning of nighttime, so they had quite a few more hours to spend together.

Which... Eve was fine with. She quite liked James's company so far and did want to get to know him better. Regardless... she wanted to make sure they both weren't wasting each other's time.

"Will you be staying the whole event?" she asked curiously.

"That's the plan," he said. "You?"

"I wasn't planning on it, but..." Eve smiled softly, placing her spoon back down on the bowl. "If your plan is to stay, I wouldn't mind spending that time with you." She paused. "If you'd like that."

And, though he did not seem opposed to it, there was a longer delay as he slowly slurped a spoonful, like he was mulling it over. And although it pained her, it took all of Eve's willpower to not ramble on or spew more words since she knew that would come across as desperate and clingy.

Then, after an eternity of five seconds, he finally answered.

"I'd like that," he said with a small smile.

Relief flooded through her as she took in a silent deep breath. Good. So they were on the same page. They shared an agreement of having no discussions of work while also maintaining an active interest in one another, at least until the end of the event, or... whatever this was. Them spending time, eating food, as if they were on a date.

Of course, Eve wondered what could happen after the event, but... she could wait. For now.

Until then, she was simply going to enjoy spending time with James.

Though the sun had set, the lower markets were bursting with renewed life. The still-hanging banners of all colors were softly lit by the warm glow of torches. Dancers in colorful, exotic costume and passers-through were all in high spirits, between the musicians at each corner of the marketplace, the bountiful array of foods of all cuisines from across Nye, and the freely flowing drinks.

The festival had been a true highlight for the Ashlunds every year. They often took any and all excuses to gather with old friends, and make new acquaintances. To be among their community.

Hild felt none of it this year.

Lingering on the sidelines for now, Hild nibbled on a round of fried dough as she watched for her family between the crowd of gliding bodies-- watching for her mother in particular. Uncle Bo lead Mum through a waltz along to the singing of slow yet cheerful-sounding violins.

The song picked up. That was when Mum had to excuse herself for the rest of the evening. Pulling Uncle Bo down to peck him on the cheek, she bid him goodnight and was ready to leave. Bo was quick to offer an arm, however, with a warm smile. With fondness, Mum yielded and took it graciously.

Hild handed off her unfinished bread to her half-brother. "I'll take her back," she stated firmly.

With a frown, Lyall held out the bread as though it were diseased. "You'll take who where?"

Hild was already untying the ribbon of her mask to cement her decision. Ulf lightly swatted at her elbow.

"She can walk," he retorted.

"Indeed," Hild huffed impatiently. "With company."

"She doesn't need company," Lyall argued plainly.

Hild opened her mouth, ready to rattle off a list of all the things that could possibly go wrong in the blink of an eye. Especially considering their mother's compromised health, which, why did she need to remind them--

"We're literally right there." And Ulf pointed an arm back to the line of buildings behind them.

They all turned to look. Past the fenced yard, Tove could be seen waving from the waiting room window.

Picking up Hild's hand, Lyall tucked the bread back against her palm and closed her fingers around it. "And, in case you've missed the memo since the past your entire lifetime, nothing really goes too poorly wherever Bo is." He patted Hild's hand reassuringly. "Mum's in good hands."

It was Hild's turn to frown deeply at him. "You must hear how juvenile your line of thought sounds." She took back her bread, anyway.

"I'm sorry you can't properly infer my true meaning," Lyall snapped back. "Allow me to explain." Head tilted, he gestured both hands at Bo as the two approached. "Uncle Bo, here. Which means, Mel and Robin, also here." He held up two fingers. "Both doctors." He added another to the count. "Ergo, three sets of very capable hands--"

"I don't believe you're striking the proper tone," Hild bit out.

Lyall held up a hand to interrupt, and added in a softer tone when she relented: "Which all sums up to, Mum will be okay."

Lips pursed, Hild couldn't help but deflate a little.

"It's just an 18 meter walk anyhow, you worry wart," Lyall added flatly.

"You are a man-child," Hild weakly shot back.

He looked ready to further argue. Then instead stood straighter and inclined his head in greeting to their mother. As did Ulf. Holding her bread behind her back, Hild followed suit.

"If you need me," Mum said with an amused grin, "I'll be in my study."

They murmured their acknowledgments.

Taking Ulf by the arm so that he was linked at her other side, Astrid tugged him along with a softer, "I'd actually like a quick word with you. You can get back right after..."

And so their middle brother was effortlessly swept away to the clinic with them. Hild quietly watched them go, that earlier sense of contrary dreariness fast returning.

Plucking the bread from her hand, Lyall abruptly turned her around by her shoulder. Taken entirely aback, she aggressively swatted him away.

"You've barely danced this entire first hour," he huffed, batting back at her with his free hand. "It won't do to have a storm cloud hanging over you all night on an evening like this. Find yourself a ray of sunshine, would you?"

"Don't tell me what is and isn't acceptable!" she sniped.

How could he be so unaffected?

"Find yourself a distraction!" Stepping behind her, he pushed at her back. "Literally any body should do the trick!"



Hild would be sooner struck down by the deities themselves before she ever admitted that... perhaps, Lyall was just a little bit right. Just a bit of a distraction for one night was what she needed.

By the end of the second hour, she was already looking for a fifth partner. By virtue of dedicating her time and energies to only ballroom dances, she stuck with the corner of the market filled with popular song and dance originally from the Moonlight Kingdom.

It usually didn't matter who the partner was. The steps were already planned out and practiced accordingly. It was a predictable dance. Routine. And she always found comfort in routine.

Disentangling with a polite smile and bow of her head, Hild wandered farther out into the square. Not in search of anyone in particular. Just the next person who happened to lock eyes with her.

Within the sea of colors, her eyes naturally landed on a suit of striking crimson, adorned with golden filigree-styled stitching on the sleeve cuffs and the collar. The wearer's mask came in a matching gold. All warm hues, well-suited to the warm tones of his skin and eyes.

He smiled back at her. Shoulders squared, Hild decisively strode his way as the next song began.

"Hild Ashlund," she said by way of greeting with a polite smile and slight curtsy.

The man smiled back more warmly, with a respectful dip of his head.

"Leilan Akamai," he said. "It's a pleasure. Would you do me the honor of having this next dance, Hild?"

Having received a fair mix of mostly casual greetings, she found this Leilan's formality quite welcome.

"The honor would be mine, Mister Akamai," she smoothly answered.

Leilan offered her his hand as the strings began to play the latest waltz.

"Shall we?" he invited pleasantly.

She accepted with a faint nod, her smile growing a little, and gracefully followed his lead.

With relaxed hands and quick, confident steps, Leilan quickly proved himself an expert in waltz. Their movements were measured and precise, both of them synced well with the music. They glided as a near-perfect mirror to the pairs all around them.

The hasty tempo of the song mellowed, allowing the dancers to waltz at a more moderate pace. Hild honed in her focus on matching the adjusted melody, while keeping a watchful eye on Leilan's cues.

With less of her attention on proper footwork and distance from running into fellow dancer's turning radii, the distraction of dancing became a little not-so-distracting.

"You're quite a good dancer, Hild," Leilan said with a smile, now that the music had slowed enough to allow conversation.

Hild snapped her drifting gaze back up from his shoulder to his face, and mustered another polite grin. "Thank you," she answered. "Though credit must go where it is due. A dancer is only as good as their partner."

Leilan chuckled a little. "In that case, thank you for making us both look good."

Her smile turned a bit dry at the flattery. "Where did you learn?" she asked cordially. "You're quite the skilled lead."

"My mothers taught me," Leilan said, leading her through a natural spin. "They take it pretty seriously." He let out a laugh. "I didn't have much choice but to learn at first, but I've grown into it. As for you?"

Hild hummed with faint amusement. "An immediate commonality. My mother likewise takes proper socializing quite seriously. Thus, I learned from an instructor who hailed from the south."

"They knew what they were doing," Leilan said pleasantly. "So did our mothers, apparently."

And then, he did something a little odd. His gaze flicked to something off behind her, and for a moment, uncertainty showed on his face. But not a second later, his attention was back on her again, and so was his easy smile.

For politeness's sake, and for her heart not really being in the conversation in the first place-- however amicable it may have been-- Hild had half a mind to merely brush off that fleeting fracture in his lighthearted composure. It could have been nothing more than, say, an unsavory colleague, or even a partner from whom he parted ways in the past, passing through. That was reasonable enough.

But it was a look she knew well, from having read it on her mother's or Uncle Bo's faces many times whenever something hair-raising lurked just around some corner. The need to know prickled at the back of her neck, and brought a new wakefulness to her eyes as she focused just past Leilan's face to scan the crowd surrounding them.

"Are you attending the festival with any friends tonight?" she asked, tone curious.

"A few," Leilan said cordially. "They're mostly keeping to the Isles section, but I can't dance that fast." He shrugged one shoulder sheepishly, still smiling. "It's quite different from this."

She nodded her agreement. "My brothers are far better at it than I am, as well."

"Are they here too?" Leilan asked, smiling more warmly at their mention.

"They are." Somewhere. Much as she'd rather not talk about them, it was a conversational opportunity she had to take. So, she went on, "Are you familiar with this area, Mister Akamai?"

"Leilan will do, really," Leilan assured her.

"Mister Leilan," Hild amended.

Leilan grinned in gentle amusement, though that was not Hild's intent. "I do live here. I was born further south, but by now I've spent most of my life here."

She nodded once, safely tucking away that bit of information. "Then hopefully it won't be too presumptuous to assume you're familiar with the Ashlund clinic?"

Leilan's eyes brightened with recognition. "I thought your last name sounded familiar! You and your family do a lot of great work for this city."

She was not fishing for compliments, and yet.

"Two of my siblings and I work there," she went on with a quick smile in acknowledgment, "just on the other side of this block. So, even if they weren't here, they're still quite close by."

"What work do you do there?" Leilan asked curiously.

"I'm not licensed to practice," she supplied simply.

Mister Leilan broke away for an underarm turn. As Hild mirrored his steps exactly, she took this as opportunity to broaden her focus to their periphery. No one immediately caught her eye, so she watched for any further hints of recognition on his end.

"What of you?" she idly asked. "Do you work with family?"

"No, my parents are both professors here," Leilan said. "I'm a personal guard at the Estates. It's not really where I saw myself going, but it pays well enough to leave me time to figure out what I really want to do with my life." He offered her another smile. "Which I really should start working on soon."

Hild furrowed a brow at that. An Estates guard certainly was an interesting choice. Quite the split in paths from academia.

"Why not follow your parents into university?" she asked, curiosity piquing a little once more.

"I did study international relations there," Leilan said with a small chuckle. "I don't think instructing is the way for me, though, and there's a lot of potential options with that path of study. I didn't feel compelled to stick to their path, which is fortunate."

Hild hummed. "Quite fortunate," she faintly agreed, though admittedly it wasn't something she could directly relate to.

Anyhow. Mister Leilan was a guard currently. Among possibly the highest socioeconomic strata of Ruddlan: in the Estates. Thus, he was often at the very least on the fringes of distinguished company, such as city counselors, international business folk, and even ambassadors. Maybe even gleaning government information that was only meant for behind the curtains.

"Were you required to train with the city militia?" she asked.

"I was, and it wasn't particularly pleasant," Leilan said. "Whatever you've heard about Captain Lindberg's temper? It's probably true."

He was trained to watch for and identify potential threats, then. Which only confirmed her suspicions that something more serious was potentially underfoot and caught his eye.

Hild softened her intense gaze into slight pity. "That is less fortunate," she hummed.

"She is very good at her job, for what it's worth," Leilan added, like he didn't mean to criticize her. "Some say the reason things have been quieter in Ruddlan since she took over is because she's so terrifying, and admittedly, I can see it."

And then he did it again. It was even easier to miss this time, but for a brief moment, his gaze did flick away to squint at something in the distance before quickly returning to her again.

Hild was reading various signs of competance in just this short exchange alone. Seeking to only speak as respectfully of a less-than-savory boss as he was able; caring enough to do a job well, despite viewing it only as transport to a more desirable career; and staying vigilant even now when he wasn't even on the clock.

Though. Perhaps he was working?

She very nearly asked, too, but stopped short when she picked up something foreign in the air.

By this point in her evening, the natural musks and smell of sweat from dancers around them, though not so pleasant to describe, did eventually fall into the background like a sort of white noise. Hild could go about unbothered, especially when the heavy scents of fried and smoked foods masked everything.

But they made another turn about each other, and Hild couldn't help but freeze for just a second when she caught a whiff of a strangely heavy musk with a sharpness like peppercorns. Something she'd usually smell strongest on Uncle Robin, but she knew he wasn't in the upper markets tonight.

There had to be a new wolf in Ruddlan.

She noticed too late that she brought her dance partner to a complete stop with her.

"What's wrong?" Leilan asked concernedly, scanning their surroundings intently, even though she could have been asking him that.

"Did I mention the clinic is also our place of residence?" Hild asked, her pleasant tone now a little stiff as she forced herself to say this horrifically forward thing. "Just on the upper floor. We don't usually tell people, but..." She let go of his hands to tensely fold her own together. "I'd like to make... an exception."

She hoped to gods Mister Leilan could pick up her true purpose for it.

She witnessed him blinking confusedly for just a moment. He then nodded, more serious-faced now, however. "Would you like to head there?"

Hild almost breathed out in audible relief and nodded once. "I think a moment of quiet could benefit both of us."

A bit awkwardly, she inclined her head again in beckoning and sharply turned on her heel to retrace her steps back through the crowd to the clinic. She didn't have to watch over her shoulder for Mister Leilan, since the scent of cedar lingered close behind.

"Agreed," Leilan said, following her calmly and casually. Though he sounded like he was still scanning the crowd closely, since his voice didn't carry directly her way.

The song ended as they weaved through, which created more ample space to pass through when the other dancers drifted apart to catch their breaths. Which made travel just a little easier, but the two of them that much more visible as they passed.

"Hild Ashlund," a voice chimed pleasantly, causing her to look over her shoulder.

There, parting through the crowd behind them was Carter Haddon, dressed in ivory and gold, smiling brightly as he met Hild's eyes.

Hild faltered in her steps, instinctively putting on a smile in turn.

"Mister Haddon," she greeted, certainly surprised. Though unsure if she should be pleasantly surprised that he did indeed find her during one of the dances, or not-so-pleasantly for the ill timing of it.

Thus, she could not truthfully extend a "nice to see you" at the moment.

"Pardon me, it appears I've caught you at a bad time," Carter said apologetically, looking to Leilan. "But it's very good to see you. Are you departing for the evening?"

Well. Yes, but.

Leilan put on a polite smile that looked a little... different from the ones he'd been offering Hild. It seemed those ones had been genuine, because she seemed to be getting a glimpse of one that wasn't quite as warm.

"I was just on my way," he said. "Do you know this man, Hild?"

"I do," Hild assured him, "we're well acquainted." Quickly recomposing herself, she inclined her head. "It's lovely seeing you again as well."

She'd rather not keep Mister Leilan here, since Hild seemed bound by propriety to stay now. But, she also didn't want him to simply leave entirely either. They had some odd moments prior to follow up on.

"I did plan on retiring early," Hild started honestly, "but I can postpone that for..." Good gods, this entire evening required far more audacity than she realized she ever had. "...one more dance?"

"I would be honored, Miss Ashlund," Carter said with a small bow.

"Have fun," Leilan wished them, stepping back with a nod and a warmer smile to Hild. "I'll catch you shortly."

"Thank you, goodnight," Hild replied, tone polite and indicating finality, but mustering appreciation in her next smile to let him know they were on the same page: she wouldn't be far behind him.

She was quick to turn her attention back to Mister Haddon, just to keep from watching Mister Leilan with any visible anxiety.

"I'd like to first assure you," she said, her smile relaxing as she respectfully dipped in a small curtsy, "that your timing is actually impeccable. The band has yet to pick the next song."

Carter chuckled. "In that way, perhaps," he said, glancing in the direction Leilan disappeared. "I do apologize for intercepting you, but I can't say I regret doing so."

A small, genuine smile graced his features as he inclined his head towards the band.

"I'm glad it seems you were drawn to the music of the south," he said. "You made it easier for me to run into you."

Hild had to silently admit to herself, the simple comments made her mentally stutter again. And not in a way she entirely hated. She only managed a hesitant smile before the strings faded back in.

Carter extended a hand for her to take.

"Well then," he said, smiling brighter. "Shall we?"

Trying to keep her own smile tame, she set her palm in his with a more confident, "We shall."

Leading her out into the crowd as the dancers gathered once more, Carter gently wrapped his hand around her waist and lifted her other at their side. At the start of the measure, Carter led into the rhythm with a small dip of their hands, and they fell into the movement of the crowd around them.

"I feel lucky to have caught you, just before you left," Carter said as they turned with the music. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to spot people at a masquerade."

"I'm sure I can," she replied with a slightly flat grin. "Though you've apparently a sharp enough eye to navigate anyhow."

Carter smiled a little warmer, tilting his head to the side as he looked at her hair.

"You do have... notable identifying features," he said.

She blinked. "Oh. Yes."

"I like the dress, by the way," Carter said. "Green looks good on you."

Hild instinctively glanced down at the gold-colored beads that adorned her shoulders and the edges of the collar in floral patterns. Mentally noting how it matched the same colored embroidery on the cuffs and collar of Carter's shirt.

"Ivory is a striking color on you," she stated seriously in turn. "It's a good complement for your complexion."

Carter grinned. "I think it looks better with yours."

Briefly averting her gaze, Hild was thankful for the mask obscuring most of her face. Fueled by her own earlier audacity to freely extend terribly forward invitations, Carter's own brazenness now, and recalling their back and forth from the sitting room of the Manor, she made what felt like another choice of daring and replied in teasing, "I think you could spare a thought to come up with an original compliment."

Carter smirked playfully.

"Fortunately," he said. "It's not so difficult to come up with one for a woman like yourself."

As if the music was serving him, he led her into a spin, along with the others in the crowd following the choreographed steps of the dance.

As she spun back into his arms, briefly with her back turned to him, he held her close for just a moment longer than the music called for.

"For all your witty banter and your intellect," he said. "I wonder how many times you've been told how easy it is to get lost in your eyes."

How many times she'd been what?

He spun her back out, turning her again to face him. She had no response with which to meet him, only a second of silent bafflement.

They rotated across the dancefloor, and instead of filling the silence, Carter seemed content to do just as he said: get lost in her eyes, as he smiled at her.

Hild actually, fully smiled back after a moment, as she felt a something that had become increasingly rare: a spark of true excitement.

You know how sometimes in life, a situation unfolds and you find yourself a mere observer - like you're a viewer of your own life, outside your body, watching a house slowly burning?

Perhaps it was a bit too dramatic to say that was how James felt, but with the direction his evening was going, he thought he could only prepare himself for inevitable disaster. His reasoning was as follows:

- He would never hear the end of this from Fonzi, or any of his friends. And they were going to know.
- He did not know what he was doing. Not in the slightest.
- This was going well. Too well.
- Good things never last.
- Come midnight, there was no good alternative to showing his face, and unless she'd already picked out who he was, there was no good reaction to anticipate either. The best-case scenario would be that she lived under a rock and didn't care at all. Everything else was shit.

If he'd been smart, which he rarely was these days in social relations, he would've called it quits before it even started. What he should have done was give Evaline the cold shoulder and pretend to be more interested in his drink. Perhaps, he could've even up and left. That would have been better in the long run, right? To be temporarily cruel, so that he wasn't leading her on?

Gods, this was a mess. He did not know how to stop this carriage. The reins had gone up in flames.

And of course, Evaline was lovely. More than he deserved or expected, and that was what made it all the worse. By now, they'd spent hours dancing, eating, drinking, and talking about everything and nothing at all. Somehow, by some miracle of work on both ends, they'd steered away from any talk of work - nothing about what they did, how they made money, or where they were placed in the world. No titles, no reputations. Just them.

It was refreshing - and James realized it was something he'd desperately missed: being talked to like a human, and not a historic figure.

Maybe that was what made it so hard to refuse from the start. Evaline had picked him out of a crowd not because she recognized him as Tiberius Hemming: but because she saw him. Or at least, a masked version of him.

It was almost embarrassing how he'd succumbed to it. How quickly he caved, barely even resisting to attention that felt real. Nevermind the fact that he felt he didn't have to earn it either, which was another knotted net of issues in and of itself.

The dread and anticipation came to a head five minutes 'til midnight.

He hadn't noticed the time until someone in the crowd mentioned it loudly, behind them. Excitement began to buzz on the dancefloor as couples and friends readied themselves for the last song of the night, before the bands tore down and the booths opened up for a last round of drinks and food to send everyone off.

Nervously, James's hand lingered in Evaline's as they stood in the thick of the crowd, and dancers around them began to sway to the slow-moving tune.

Of course the song finishing out the night was an intimate sonnet. And this time, all of the bands played the same song: it filled the courtyard with a sweet, hopeful melody.

"One last dance?" he asked softly, as he and Evaline drew closer in the tight crowd.

He was sure his heart was racing.

This close, with their hands met, she could probably feel his pulse if she had a mind to pay attention to it.

"For tonight, and for you," Evaline began with an endeared smile, settling her free hand against his shoulder for the dance, "one last dance."

James bowed his head, and they began to sway with the soulful swell of the strings, met with the low drones of brass. The guitarist nearest to them began to play a solo, off and on, shared with a violinist, and the notes turned bittersweet.

And for once in his life, he wished that things weren't going to perfectly - because he already saw how this was going to end.

As the song swelled and began to lull towards its end, James knew they had less than a minute left before people would begin taking masks off and fleeing to the booths for more drinks.

If there was anything he could do to soften the blow...

"How many summer festivals have you spent in Ruddlan, Evaline?" he asked.

"Two, so far," she answered after a spin, her eyes searching his, as if she knew what he was getting at. "What about yourself?"

"This is my first," he said.

"Are the events a surprise to you, then?" Evaline asked curiously. "Or are your familiar with the traditions?"

"I knew of some," he answered honestly. "But... this one was a surprise."

He heard of the 'unmasking' tradition earlier that morning. Not too much time to think on it before it was already upon him.

Evaline spun again with his movements, studying his mask. "Are you familiar with the upcoming tradition at midnight?" she asked more directly.

"As of today," he said, drawing her back in.

"Would you..." she began, then paused to briefly glance away before holding on to his shoulder more firmly, "...like to see my face?"

It felt too soon, but at her question, the music came to a stop with one last crescendoed note. At that moment, his heart started to race again, louder than before.

"I would," he said softly, slowly lowering their hands as they remained intertwined. "If you'd like to see mine."

Evaline nodded once, gently squeezing his hands. "I would," she echoed, just as soft. "I'd like to see the face of the man I spent an enjoyable evening with."

Pulling his hands out of hers, he steeled his nerves and met her eyes, gently reaching up for her mask.

"May I?" he asked in a near-whisper.

"At the same time?" she offered, hand also reaching up for his mask.

James nodded.

Just as his fingers brushed the edge of her mask by her chin, the bell tower at the end of the plaza rang out with a loud, deep gong.

He reached gently around her ears, deftly untying the knot at the base of her neck to loose the mask before he pulled it away. Evaline's hands were just as gentle as she found the tie at the back of his head, loosing it.

Their masks were pulled away in unison, and for a split second, their eyes met.

Evaline was just as beautiful, if not more than James had imagined. The dark eyes that had peered out of the mask at him fit perfectly on her face. Her soft nose and cheeks filled in the gap between her eyes and her full lips, and her brows were strong and even.

While unmasking, Evaline's expression had been curious, and patient, but also eager. She suggested that she wanted to see who James was, the person behind the mask-- but now that they were staring at each other, mask-less and open with their bare faces, the awe and wonder she previously held dropped completely.

Instead, it was replaced with hostile fear.

"You're--" she sputtered out, taking an uneven step back. The crowd around them was lively with roars of cheering and laughing, people running amok as fireworks boomed in the sky, signaling the end of the festival. Eyes wide, she spat with disbelief, "You're Tiberius Hemming."

Something inside of him cowered at the name.

She didn't say it like a revelation, but an accusation - and that alone told him everything he needed to know.

She saw him the way he saw himself. Like a monster.

"No. No, no, no," she said with a weak mirthless laugh, aggressively shaking her head and turning away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know I lied--"

"Was any of this even real?" she cut in desperately, turned away from him with her hand over her face, refusing to look at him. "Did you lie about everything?"

His heart dropped into his gut.

"Only my name," he said.

And for some reason, it stung this time to say so - because he hadn't. James was his real name. The one he'd been given. Not the one he'd chosen ten years ago.

"I don't believe you," Evaline said with another aggressive shake of her head. "I don't believe you."

She ripped her gaze to be towards him again, this time seething with a hostile, vengeful glare. Her eyes bore fiery holes through him as if she was still trying to see past the mask he took off.

"Goodbye," she said lowly without any heart in the farewell. And before James could react further, she turned her heels and disappeared within the growing crowd while James stared at her, unmoving.

He hadn't felt this small since...

Well, he guessed it didn't matter. Evaline was right to be angry. She had no reason to stay.

It was for the best.

James looked down to his feet, then at the mask in his hands that she'd forgotten to take back in return. The now-empty eyes stared back at him from behind the black and white beading, and he wasn't sure if it felt poetic or like a harsh reminder that this was a reflection of his life. Everyone was going to leave, or he was going to leave them, and holding onto any of it was naivete.

Regret pooled in his gut, and a familiar, anxious ache gripped his chest as the emptiness he felt every morning and every night dug in deeper.

He was lying to himself when he said it was a relief to be hated, and even more so to feel understood.

Really all it meant was further means to justify what he already knew of himself.

He was never going to come back from this. Any of this.

James closed his eyes, reaching up to rub his face as weariness from the long night began to wash over him all at once. He was about ready to find Caspar and their carriage, but a sudden arm around his shoulders caught him off balance and off guard, pulling him into their side.

From the smell and the voice, he immediately recognized it as Fonzi.

Beer. Fonzi's breath reeked of beer.

"Well look at you, standing here all by your lonesome!" Fonzi said far too cheerily as fireworks continued to boom in the sky.

Gods, James hated fireworks. He tensed under Fonzi's grasp, pushing him away.

"You stink," he muttered.

"Oh my gosh! Tiberius, hi!" a high-pitched cheery voice said from behind.

Just when James thought his night couldn't get any worse - Fonzi had brought Mel Sommers along: the woman who'd not-so-subtly fawned over him at the tailor's shop. At least her attention was more on Fonzi now.

She beamed, hugging Fonzi from his side to help him stand up straighter. "Aw! Fonzi told me you both were friends! It's nice to see you again!"

James managed a thin smile. "Hello," he said. "You two look like you had fun."

"Tiberius, you should've come over to the sands band," Fonzi said. "The dancing there was wild," he said. "I saw a guy get on his belly and flop like a lizard!"

Mel giggled, poking at his chest. "Then you tried to imitate him!"

"And I got dirt all over me trying," Fonzi laughed. "I'm going to have to practice that at home. That move's such a party trick."

"Yes! You'll totally have to show Tiberius later," Mel said eagerly, nodding.

For a second, James thought of walking away mid-conversation. Then, he saw Fonzi's eyes latch onto the mask in James's hands.

Gods. Here we go.

But just as Fonzi's big mouth opened to speak, Mel beat him to it.

"Oh! Tiberius, did you exchange masks with someone?" she asked with a curious smile.

James glanced down at the mask.

"I found it on the ground," he lied.

"No you didn't," Fonzi said in disbelief.

"Where did yours go, then?" Mel dogpiled on.

"There's no red dust on it," Fonzi continued, pointing at the mask accusingly. "If it were on the ground it'd for sure be dusty."

"Yeah!" Mel nodded, beaming. "I spent soooo much white lace on that mask. I should know, I made it."

James had already been frowning. His frown deepened.

"I lost it," he said instead.

"Oh my gosh, Fonzi!" Mel squealed with delight, shaking him. "Tiberius had a date!"

Fonzi burst into raucous laughter. "Yes!" he said, reaching out and abruptly shaking James's hand with far too much vigor. "I knew it! I knew you'd get a rebound."

James emptily stared up at the firework-filled sky for a moment, wondering if the gods cared enough to strike him dead.

It would be a mercy.

"Oooh, a rebound?" Mel asked with a raised brow and tilt of her head, but then shrugged it off, smiling again. "Hey, that's cool. Glad you found someone! Who's the lucky lady?" She paused, twirling a strand of her curly hair. "Or lucky guy. Or--"

"She went home, and that's all you'll hear of it," he said curtly.

"Oh my gods," Fonzi said, eyes widening. "What happened? Did you step on her foot or something?"

"You two seem like you should take advantage of the night's last moments together," James said instead. "I'm going to find Caspar."

"We definitely will," Mel said with a giggle, playfully elbowing Fonzi. She glanced back at James more soberly with a more assured smile, asking, "Are you doing okay, though?"

For some reason, that elicited a mirthless laugh out of him.

Not quite feeling like himself, he pursed his lips and briefly patted Mel's shoulder as he walked past her, letting that be answer enough.

As he made his way through the crowd to where they left their carriage, he passed by one of the public wastebins with a pause. He glanced back at Fonzi and Mel, watching to see that they were already on their way, attention off of him. Glancing down at the mask in his hands, he stared at it one last time.

He wasn't going to be able to keep it anyway.

Best not to hold onto things that didn't serve him. He wasn't going to have space for sentimental keepsakes, and he'd rather not keep a reminder of this night if he could help it.

James tossed the mask, and with it, the person Gan made him think he could be. And the person he thought she'd been in return.

Bo laid on the floor with his face in the carpet and his mask tossed to the side, feeling far too many things at once for one simple person to take. They were back at Flora's, in the basement - because it was cooler down there and that's where Bo had been camping out since he came to Ruddlan, anyway.

"It was nice," he said into the floor, turning to flop over onto his back.

He looked up at Caspar, who sat on the couch like a normal person, looking down at him.

"Thank you," Bo said, quieter.

Even if it didn't become anything more - because he really couldn't let it - it would still be a cherished memory.

Caspar smiled faintly with a soft huff. "I wasn't the one who asked you for a dance," he retorted with an air of teasing.

"Yeah, but you helped get me out there," Bo said. "I was about ready to give up and go home."

Elbow on the arm of the couch and his head tilted to rest against his hand, Caspar's smile turned sincere and caring. "I'm just glad the nudge was what you needed. I worried it was presumptuous to answer for you."

Bo sighed, forcing himself to sit up at the foot of the couch for a proper conversation. He hupped himself up onto the couch next to Caspar.

"No worries," Bo said, patting Caspar's knee for a second.

And, contentedly, the two of them proceeded to sit in silence, for a moment. In the home up above, Flora and Finn were sleeping soundly. So were Mel and Raj, who'd turned in at her house instead of leaving the city after a tiring night. Robin had curled up in the living room, under the couch, occasionally making little whimpering noises, as he sometimes did in his sleep.

One time Bo had asked him if he ever had dreams of chasing things, like he suspected dogs did. Robin was so offended he bit Bo's leg, so he never asked again.

He was probably right, though. Robin just didn't want to admit it.

Bo let out a deep sigh as he sunk back into the old couch, its well-worn cushions carved by the bodies that had sat in it time and time again. The lamp on the side-table beside them flickered steadily with the candlelight, painting the room in a familiar warm glow.

And, of course, it was truly quiet down here, in the cool basement Flora had carved deep under her home.

All that could be heard was the flame's flicker, and their collective breathing. But Bo knew he had to address what was weighing on him eventually. After a long enough pause in comfortable silence, he decided to finally speak.

"I don't know how to buffer this," he said quietly. "But. Astrid has cancer."

After a second's delay, Caspar quietly turned to face Bo directly. Elbows leaning on his knees, and his eyes solemn and attentive.

"It's terminal," Bo said, quieter. "She's dying. Doctors say she only has a few months left - but that's a generous estimation."

"Do the kids know?" Caspar murmured sadly.

"They found out five days ago," Bo said. "I was there when she told them."

He paused, rubbing his face with his hand.

"She... she knew she'd been sick for seven months," he said. "She still hadn't told them."

"Oh..." There was a flash of pain in Caspar's eyes, and it made the fact sting for Bo all the more. His chest tightened with grief again.

"I'm glad I got to help her do it," he said. "But--"

His throat tightened too, and he tried to swallow the knot down. His voice wavered.

"The kids..." he whispered out. "They didn't say it, but I could see it. They were so betrayed, knowing it so late. I'm sure for the older ones, it only made sense of things. But it..."

Bo couldn't hold it in any longer. Remembering Astrid's face when she saw Tove, asleep in Lyall's lap for the entire announcement, broke him.

He leaned forward, covering his face in his hands as he began to sob.

Caspar wrapped an arm around Bo's shoulders and drew him in against his chest in a tight, comforting hold. Bo leaned in, letting himself be held.

He needed it.

It felt like all he could do for several minutes was cry, until finally he managed to clear his throat enough to speak again, though he didn't yet want to move. Caspar made no move to withdraw, either. He stayed a firm, steady support.

"I'm going to miss her," he said, fresh tears welling up again.

There was nothing he could do to stop the passage of time. He knew all of his friends were going to die before him: but why did it have to be this? He hated sickness. He hated cancer. He hated friends losing their lives before they had a chance to live it full.

"And we haven't talked about it yet," Bo said, his voice warbling. "But I know-- I know she's going to ask me to take care of the kids."

Rubbing his face, he tried to wipe some of the tears away: but in honesty, there were too many, and his hands were insufficient for clearing the amount of tears on his face.

He sat up a bit, pulling away as he patted down his pant pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He dried his face with it quickly before blowing his nose loudly.

"Will you even be able to?" Caspar asked, voice quiet with concern, keeping a warm hand on Bo's shoulder.

"That's what I have to weigh," Bo said, dabbing his eyes again as he sat a bit straighter, leaning back into the couch. "I want to be able to. I care about the Aslunds like they were my own family, and her children like they were my own kids. But... I'd have to drop everything for this. I'd have to retire."

Falling quiet, Caspar glanced down as he thought intently. "Who could even take your place?" he murmured tentatively.

"I don't know," Bo said softly. "I've thought about Eve. But she's still so young. I don't want to push her before she's ready."

Another quiet beat.

"How old are the elder Ashlund kids again?" Caspar asked. "Some of them are moved out, right?"

Bo sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Lyall's only 24," Bo said. "Hild, 20. Ulf, barely 19."

Caspar let out a weary breath. "That is young," he murmured.

"The only other person I've thought of," Bo said after a pause. "Is Mel. Taking point with the resistance, that is."

"She'd do it well," Caspar replied. With another brief hesitation, he added quieter, "Won't be an easy transition by any means. For anyone."

Bo nodded. "I know," he said softly. "That's... I guess I created that, without meaning to."

If Mel were to take his place, she'd have big shoes to fill. Anyone would.

A longer few seconds of quiet thought.

"What will you do with the family until then?" Caspar next asked instead, mustering a sad smile. "Big or small plans for spending time?"

Bo turned to Caspar, managing a sad smile in return.

"I think... I just want to spend as much time with them as I can," he said. "As much as Astrid will allow, anyway. I'd hate to overstep."

"I'm sure she'll..." Caspar tilted his head uncertainly, then amended, "If nothing else, they'll appreciate you being there for them."

Bo knew that they would, but also that the Ashlunds had a very difficult time showing it. They always had a hard time accepting help, and that was when times were good.. It was going to be even more challenging now, with this massive heap of pain none of them could avoid.

"It's going to be hard," Bo admitted sadly. "Astrid doesn't make it easy."

He wiped his tearing eyes again.

"But I love her too much not to try," he said. "She's like the sister I never had."

Caspar's expression softened further, were it possible. "I haven't had the chance to talk with her much in the past, but anyone could tell that's a very mutual love between you two." He patted Bo's back, then leaned forward on his knees again. "Maybe she'll thank you soon enough, and let you in without a fight this time."

Bo pouted in a saddened frown, leaning forward on his knees with Cas. He rubbed his face again, still tearing up. He just let the tears fall, streaming down his face.

"That would be nice," he said faintly, his voice catching in his throat. "But... I don't know. Things like this... you just don't know what you'll get a chance for. How quickly the sickness will take her."

He held his hands together in front of him, lowering his head as he shook his head.

"I don't know how many more goodbyes like this my heart can take," he murmured, softer. "It's always like this. The people I care about... they always leave too soon."

And he was tired of so many people he loved being put in danger.

Caspar leaned so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder, tilting his head to lightly bump to Bo's. Quiet and truly understanding from his own experiences, his own string of too-soon goodbyes.

"I'm so sorry, Bo," he said, earnest and with shared heartache.

Bo nodded, sniffing. He pulled out his hanky again, wiping his nose too. Wordlessly, out of things to say, Bo leaned his head against Caspar's.

There were so many things he could say, but so much of it didn't make sense. At this point in his life, Robin was the only friend he had - outside of his father, Mickey - that knew he was a dragon.

And being a dragon meant so many things, but Bo's least favorite was that it meant he'd live forever. Or, at least, twenty times a normal human's lifespan; which was indefinitely, in human terms. It all meant the same thing.

He was going to outlive everyone he ever loved. Even Mickey.

It felt like a secret he had to carry on his own, because that kind of information would put a target on his back if it ever got out to the wrong people. Being careful wasn't something he did for fun: it was for his own safety. Ever since Jord's passing, the few dragons that did exist had to completely reevaluate their mortality.

Because Jord was the first dragon to ever be killed.

In Bo's younger years, he'd sometimes wished for the same kind of fate - if it meant he could escape the decades of life ahead of him, watching generations pass by while he stayed the same. Now, he wouldn't wish that kind of fate on anyone: death hurt everyone. Everyone you ever knew, everyone you ever touched. It wasn't something to wish on anyone, not even yourself. And when it was necessary, it deserved the same level of reverence. Every time.

But what Bo found himself dwelling on amidst all of the heartache, with his head against Caspar's was not how tight a secret he had to keep; but just how trustworthy a friend he had in Caspar.

Once, he'd dared to trust Robin. And now, he knew with certainty he could trust Robin with his life ten times over.

He hadn't even told Caspar, and he already knew he could trust him the same.

He just had to say it.

"Cas," he said faintly, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Sometimes I think about how I'm going to outlive you," he said.

It was awful to admit aloud. He promised he was going to explain it in a moment. He just... had to get that out first.

There was an unsure pause. "What?" Caspar murmured. "Uhm. Probably?"

"I know I grew a beard since you last saw me," he said. "But other than that, I haven't aged a day."

He pulled away, turning to face Caspar and meet his eyes.

"And here you are," he said, softer. "...Greying."

Caspar could only stare back at him with confusion.

"I don't know how else to... lead into this," Bo said quietly. "I'm sorry. I want to tell you a secret because I know you'll keep it. It's just... the only other people who know, I can count on one hand. Robin, and Mickey."

"It..." Caspar's brows furrowed, confusion morphing into open concern. "What's wrong, Bo?"

"I haven't aged a day, Caspar," Bo said quietly. "Because I'm a dragon."

The silence he was met with wasn't stunned. It was clear that Caspar just could not understand yet, though he was desperately trying to. That was okay. Bo expected as much. He was going to explain. It would just take some time to tease out.

"A dragon," Caspar echoed under his breath.

Bo smiled sadly. "Yeah," he said. "I'd prove it to you, but I wouldn't fit in this room if I tried."

"That's okay," Caspar quickly assured him, shaking his head before turning an intent stare toward the middle distance. "You don't have to prove anything, I just..."

"Take your time," Bo said softly, still watching him.

It was hard to know how to feel. In a sense, there was relief, finally letting someone else in. In another, it was terrifying for no good reason at all. Explaining it wasn't the scary part; it was the possibility of being further understood.

Turning his unwavering attention back to Bo, Caspar lifted both hands and carefully held his head between them as he searched his face. Visibly poring every detail, so slowly but certainly surely wrapping his own head around it all.

Bo couldn't help but smile, just a little. He was endeared by Caspar's silent bewilderment, mixed with affection.

"It's still me," Bo said softly.

"I know," Caspar answered, breaking out in a fond grin of his own. "I know, I'm just trying to reconcile my friend with the... deity."

Eventually, he let go. And the look of mystification fixed on Bo morphed into genuine awe as all the little pieces Caspar did have finally clicked into place.

"I'm really not that," Bo said, weaker. "I mean, I do have a lot more power than the average mage, sure. And a giant dragon form. But other than that..."

Bo shrugged. "Still me," he said.

Caspar leaned forward again, with his hand over his mouth. "Bo the dragon," he murmured thoughtfully, a small spark of delight in his eyes now.

Bo huffed. That, was certainly a title. Not one he went by, though.

"I just wish I could show you," Bo murmured, looking down at his hands.

He missed it. The freedom to shift, and feel more comfortable in his... second skin.

"I'd love nothing more than to see," Caspar answered, softly and with warmth. "This whole other side of you."

Bo smiled a little in return. "Maybe one day," he said. "When we're not in a city, or surrounded by people. Where it's safer."

Caspar only nodded his next acknowledgment. The joy in his eyes for Bo quickly dampened again, replaced with a flash of sorrow as Bo's earlier words hit him all over again. Then there was a mix of affection and bittersweetness in his next smile.

"How lucky I am," Caspar said softly. "Not because you're a dragon, but because you're still my friend Bo. Who I now understand has all the time in the world, yet still chooses to spend it with great care. And then chooses to spend a portion of it with me."

Bo stared at Caspar, eye widening.

It was like Caspar knew just what to say for every defense to go crumbling to the ground. It had been so long since he'd felt seen, never mind appreciated, at this depth of knowing. His eyes started to well up with tears again, but not all out of sorrow.

Caspar was...

Yeah. He didn't regret telling him at all. Bo pulled him into another hug, this time facing him so it could be a full one. Now, crying over Caspar's shoulder, all Bo could think was that he was so grateful for Caspar's friendship, his soft heart, and his inhuman ability for kindness, right when Bo needed it.

"I love you so much," Bo sniffled into Caspar's shoulder.

Caspar tightly held him back, a smile in his voice as he replied, "And you always have, and always will, have my love."

And, hugging Caspar tighter, Bo with all his heart meant the same in return.

"It's not my fault you forgot to bring a change of clothes," Alan huffed wearily, clambering into the hallway of his dorm. "Had you listened to my reminders, we wouldn't need to be here."

Padding in after him, Lyall scoffed moodily. "I never said it was your fault! And consider that, perhaps, this is all part of my master plan to finally see your new place."

"We're so late," Alan mumbled as he hastily sped through the hall, keeping a lookout for his dorm room. "And quiet down. People are sleeping." He grimaced, glancing at him over his shoulder. "Including my dorm mate, who-- may I remind you-- is already not pleasant to be around."

Lyall kept at an ambling pace behind him. Most likely out of spite. "I am being quiet." He slowed by one of the doors, scrunched his nose in distaste, then hurried after him. "I'm sure you can handle an unpleasant personality just fine. Grin and bear it, at worst. What's an artist without his trials, anyhow?"

"Please," Alan scoffed with amusement, shaking his head, "keep that energy until after we arrive at the party."

Alan didn't frequently go to Remus's parties, but everyone who was anyone in the young adult art scene was going to be there today. Truth be told, Alan much preferred he didn't part ways with Lara as she sleepily bid him good night after the masquerade party, but he was adamant that Lyall get his ass in this party. And if what he needed was some encouragement and a foot in the door, then dragon's above, Alan would do this as many times as needed.

"In fairness," Lyall whispered, setting a hand on Alan's shoulder once he caught up, "I only wanted to find someplace lowkey, have a few smokes, and drink some cheap booze. Something that isn't so..." He waved his other hand vaguely. "...high brow, or snobbish."

At that, Alan abruptly whipped around, firmly poking Lyall's chest. "You're going to be there," he said more sternly, poking with each sentence. "Because you deserve to be there. And I want you there. And because others need to see your talents. And because you keep saying you want to do something lowkey--"

His hand was smacked away.

"You will not waste my time with more of your delusions of grandeur," Lyall said flatly. "I refuse to let you. Now kindly sniff out your room, give me a bloody tour already, then let's be on our merry way to somewhere free of your pretention-- which I can only presume will grow tenfold in a room full of Alan dopplegangers..."

And he yapped on and on, insult after ungrateful comment after jab.

Gods.

Delusions of gradeur! Pretention? Alan dopplegangers?

Unbelieveable.

With a roll of his eyes, Alan tiredly shook his head and swiveled back around, deciding now wasn't the time or place to bark at him that he was doing him a favor. That, and Lyall kept wanting to do these so-called "lowkey" kickbacks that ultimately lead to good, maybe somewhat memorable times, but possessed no real value for his creativity to flourish.

And gods above, Lyall was seriously underselling himself. Alan felt selfish for only seeing and indulging in his talents together, and he couldn't shake this feeling that this was the night. This was the night that could change the course of Lyall's life. Maybe find that spark of creativity he had been admiring from the sidelines.

Or maybe Remus's tendency to overexagerate and dramatacize his parties was getting to his head.

"Shut up," Alan interrupted when they made it in front of his dorm room. He stood in front of the door, giving Lyall a flat look.

Though it was hard to take him seriously since he was still wearing his bright ember-colored suit jacket, resembling a flappy phoenix. In contrast against the dullness of the dim dorm halls, and against Alan's own simple button-down shirt he had changed into-- frankly, Lyall looked ridiculous. But that was also because he was ridiculous.

"Let's just go in and grab you a new shirt. Make it fast. Okay?" he went on before Lyall could complain any more.

Lyall for once listened, and only huffed testily again in response as he slipped in after him. Though he didn't stay close behind. He slowed to curiously poke at a few things on their way in.

"Finally," a nasally voice rang out from the dark corner of the room.

Alan had to repress a groan. He recognized that annoying, stuffy voice immediately as his rude roommate, Emilear. He had been hoping he was asleep, but the struck match that dimly lit up his face said otherwise.

Though... Emilear didn't seem to be dressed for bed. As he moved the match to light the lamp by his bed, Alan realized he was actually dressed more formal than expected. His long sandy hair was slicked back in a greasy ponytail, but he was wearing a nicely-fitted tailored suit instead of a giant sweater. More notably, however: he was wide awake, standing up as if he were ready to leave.

"I've been waiting all week," Emilear said. "You promised you'd take me out and show me how to talk to girls."

Alan raised a brow at that, glancing uncertainly at Lyall. His friend silently quirked his brows back at him in expectation. Alan remembered no such thing, but he'd figure this out later.

"We're just here to grab a few things and leave," Alan said pleasantly with an amicable smile, waving for Lyall to rifle through his closet. "Apologies for waking you up. We won't take long."

Emilear scoffed. "Are you blowing me off?" he said. "Is this what you do to your side-maiden, too, before running off to your fiance?"

Still by the doorway, Alan stared at him, not comprehending. What the hell was he going on about this time?

"So now you're going to play dumb," Emilear said, sounding hurt. "You did all of this just to make fun of me, didn't you? Gods. Of course."

And then it dawned on him: side-maiden, fiance, promises of a night out... gods dammit, this was Alistair's doing, wasn't it? Alan thought he was blind without glasses, but was Emilear just as blind with glasses if he thought he and Alistair were the same person? Alan hadn't been mistaken as his brother since... well, he didn't even remember.

"Sorry, my memory is bad," he answered smoothly instead with an apologetic smile, waving for Lyall to hurry up and find something. "What did I say, exactly?"

"I already --" Emilear said with a huff, slapping his hands down at his sides. "I already told you! You... ugh. I hate the language you people use. You were going to be my... 'wingman.'"

Alan stared with distaste, trying not to let his own irritation show. He was already plotting how to get revenge on his brother for this, but he'd have to think through those details later, considering Emilear seriously thought they were going to go out together.

"And he is nothing," Lyall piped up in an amicable tone of voice, draping a white button-down and a dark grey outer layer over his arm, "if not a man of his word."

Oh, he was going to play this game, was he?

"Absolutely," Alan chimed in with agreement, feigning a grin as he swept an arm towards the hall. "We're here to pick you up too, Emilear. I brought Lyall with me since he's a better wingman. He'll for sure teach you how to talk to girls."

Lyall's own smug grin stiffened. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe my contributions would be of great help. Seeing as I'm not even engaged to a woman."

At that, Alan cast him a flat look, unamused that he was bold enough to play this card.

"You're going to leave me with this guy?" Emilear said, gesturing to Lyall in disappointment.

Lyall's plastered-on grin completely fell into an offended frown at that. And so Alan doubled down and nodded eagerly.

"Fair point, my good man," he said with a grin. "Silly me. I didn't think this one through. I had forgotten how awful Lyall is talking with women. He so much as breathes in front of them, and then they all run away screaming. You clearly do not want him to be a role model."

"Sir!" Lyall cut in, absolutely aghast.

"So you brought a woman repellent to go with us," Emilear said flatly.

"Yes," Alan agreed, snapping his fingers before pointing at him. "That's a very apt description, thank you."

"Great," Emilear said, folding his arms. "This is going to be awful."

Lyall audibly gawked at both of them.

"Don't worry," Alan continued with a voice of assurance. "You have me with you. As you know, with my fiance and side-maiden, I am very good at talking to women."

Emilear frowned and stared at Alan judgmentally for a second before straightening up.

"Fine," he said. "Then where are we going? So long as you keep him far away from us."

"I've got that covered, friend," Alan said with a pleasant smile, then nodded over towards Lyall. "Are you ready to go, woman repellent?"

With a moody huff, Lyall slung the shirt over his shoulder. "Ready as I'll ever be, you bedswerving bellend."



It was definitely some party. Just passing by the giant lawn, Alan could hear the music blaring out from the house. Typically, the houses in Barlowe's Estates were quiet, especially at night-- so it was always a pleasure to hear Remus go against the grain.

Though, today the music was especially loud. Perhaps because of the "mysterious reason" Remus boasted about, or perhaps because it was the end of the festival, or perhaps both.

Alan knocked on the door, stepping back to glance back at Emilear and Lyall. They were both a little over-dressed since typically Remus's parties were more relaxed despite most people attending basically being upper-class. Alan always figured this was how they over-compensated.

"It's a mask-on party," he explained a bit last minute, pulling out his masquerade mask from his pocket. "It'll come off later, but everyone will be wearing one."

"Yes," Lyall said dully, "thank you for explaining an annual city tradition to two fellow Ruddlan residents."

"Happily," Alan said with a too-cheery smile, nodding his chin over towards Emilear. "Do you have one?"

Emilear looked at Alan with a blank stare. "I do not participate in cultural--" was all he got out.

"Excellent. You'll fit right in," Alan said only half-jokingly, because that described most people in this party anyways.

The door opened, and they were all immediately hit with the sounds of strings, brass, and percussion instruments playing inside. Despite being masked, Alan recognized Remus behind the glittering black and gold mask. He grinned, brightening up when they met eyes.

"Alan Alvaro finally decides to grace us with his presence!" he greeted, door opening wider. "So good to see you, dear friend. And-- ah! I see you've brought guests." He glanced over Lyall with apparent approval, but his gaze turned uncertain as he looked Emilear up and down.

"Hello, Remus. Good to see you again," Alan echoed, then gestured to Lyall and Emilear. "I've brought two guests with me: Lyall Ashlund, a dear friend of mine, and Emilear..." He paused. "My beloved dorm mate who loves music." Pleased, he dropped his hand and turned his smile back towards Remus. "Mind if we join the party?"

"Of course! Of course you may," Remus said eagerly, stepping aside to let them in. "Please come in. It's a special day for special friends, indeed."

"What's the occasion?" Alan asked after they said their thanks and passed through the door.

"Ah yes!" Remus nodded, shutting the door and then offering them wine glasses that he had handy by the door. "My older brother finally moved out, and my gods, he has an unexplainable distaste for furniture. Furniture!" Sighing, Remus lifted a glass and shook his head. "Anyways, this means I can officially make the place more friendly for RADICAL. And of course, why not celebrate this during a time of joyous celebration?"

Alan nodded, following along. "Keeping it smart and classy. Thanks for inviting me."

"Thank you for coming," he chirped back, patting his back. "You gentlemen enjoy the party. We will talk soon."

There was a beat of silence, but before Alan could think of where to point Lyall, Emilear reminded Alan of his existence with his annoyingly pitched voice.

"So, how do we start?" he asked.

Right... Alan wanted to take Lyall to this party so he could help him network. But first, he had to take care of Emilear.

"Follow me. I've got you covered."