Young Writers Society

Shane tugged at his collar, not for the first time, but he was telling himself it was the last. It was getting close to 1800, and the light from the windows was warming with hints of gold. He'd started getting ready early, not willing to risk running late, and now he was left to wait around. It was a little nerve-wracking, honestly.

At least his parents were nearly as excited as him.

"Dashing," his father said approvingly from the living room, holding up a purring Shrimp and rubbing the cat's back. "Dapper. Very handsome outfit."

Shane laughed faintly, brushing aside some hair as he made eye contact with himself in the dining room mirror. "It's... I don't know, am I underdressed?" He paused. "Overdressed? Is that worse?"

He'd ironed a pale blue button down shirt with sleeves cuffed at the elbow to wear, pairing it with a nicer pair of green pants, a belt, and leather dress shoes he could dance in comfortably. It was a bit of a change from his normal look, and so he couldn't quite tell what he was looking at when he scanned his reflection nervously. One moment he thought he could be fine. Then he blinked and found some kind of ever-changing problem with it.

"Neither, honey," his mother said, her smile visible in the mirror behind him. "It's perfect for a first date."

"It's so exciting!" his father squealed. "A date! This is not a drill!"

Shane cracked a smile. "Dad, it's not like it's my first date ever."

It was different, though. It actually felt special. The two of them must've sensed that too.

"No, but we're both thrilled for you anyway," his mother said warmly, coming up to set a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was teasing as she added, "And thrilled you found a man without red flags, too."

"Mom," Shane groaned, but it turned into a knowing laugh.

His mother held her hands up innocently, still smiling. "We're proud you're finding healthier relationships! Your father's already vouched for Kirk. He may or may not have called it this last week."

"Wait, what?" Shane asked.

"From the first dinner," his father said brightly. "Speaking of, shouldn't we invite this new boyfriend over for a meal sometime this week?"

Shane felt his cheeks flush. "Uh--"

"Honey, they likely haven't discussed that label yet," his mother reminded gently.

His father pouted. "Well, I bet they will after we treat him to some more of our cooking! Kirk's a fine gentleman. Homemade food must surely be the way to his heart."

"Can we-- keep it a little casual?" Shane asked. "I don't want to overwhelm him."

"I was thinking four courses..." his father started thoughtfully.

Shane chuckled. "Dad, that is not casual."

"You don't think I won your mother over with a weak cooking game, do you?" his father asked, jokingly affronted.

"He's got a point," his mother admitted. "He had me at the souffles he made for our third date."

Shane couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay," he relented. "I'll invite him over for... let's say the 16th. That should give us plenty of time to prepare."

"It'll be a feast," his father said eagerly. "I'll get out a good bottle, too."

"I'm assuming wine wasn't one of the four courses you had in mind," Shane said playfully.

"Of course not! That's an accompaniment. It's four courses and drinks." His father held up Shrimp, cradling him like a baby. "And some fish for this sweetheart."

Shrimp meowed happily on cue.

"See, he's excited for you too," his mother teased.

And before Shane could thank his cat for having his back, there was a knock at the door.

"You've got this," his mother said gently, rubbing his shoulder one last time before stepping aside to join his father over in the living room. "Have a great night, honey."

Shane felt the smile return to his face. "Thanks."

He turned to the door, taking a deep, steadying breath before opening the door. And there was Kirk.

Kirk looked... Shane felt his thoughts skip for a moment, which was very unlike him. He'd worn a black button-up shirt with short sleeves that seemed to be made of a soft, silky fabric, paired with sleek dark pants and a belt. A gold chain ran around his neck, and that one sparkle of metallic color constrasted so nicely with the black outfit. He flicked his gaze up to meet Kirk's eyes, finding that his smile had widened in whatever amount of moments he'd spent being...

A little stunned, honestly.

"Hey," he said, admittedly a bit too speechless to find more beyond that and hoping the smile said the rest of it.

"Hey," Kirk said, his smile widening. "You look amazing."

Shane grinned, laughing softly as he looked him up and down. "That should be reserved for you," he said. "You..."

Why weren't his thoughts computing?

"You look really handsome, Kirk," he finished softly.

Kirk, who'd hardly ever seemed truly shy since he'd met him, cast a bashful glance to the side.

"Seems we both look the part, then," he said with a small but genuine meek smile.

Shane felt his cheeks warm with soft color as he kept watching Kirk, his smile turning affectionate. He'd already forgotten to be nervous.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Very," Kirk said, looking up brightly. He leaned to the side, looking past Shane's head. "I hope you have a lovely evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hawking!"

"You too, Kirk!" Shane's mother called warmly.

"Have a great time dancing!" his father added excitedly.

"I'm sure we will!" Kirk answered, stepping aside so Shane could come out. Still smiling, Shane stepped out onto the doormat.

"I think we will, too," he said with a soft laugh.

"Goodbye!" Kirk said with one last friendly wave to Shane's parents.

Shane waved too as his parents shouted out their goodbyes, closing and locking the door behind them.

"They really like you," he said with a smile to Kirk.

Kirk stood up a little more confidently, seeming pleased with that discovery.

"Is that so?" he said. "Well, I quite like them myself. Though it's pretty hard not to."

Shane grinned. "They wanted to invite you over for dinner on the 16th. I think it'd be much like the one we hosted before, except-- just the four of us. Are you interested?"

Kirk's eyes lit up with hope and excitement.

"Interested?" Kirk said. "It's an immediate yes, from me. I'd be delighted to."

"Perfect," Shane said, feeling his heart swell with eagerness. How had he been so anxious a matter of minutes before at the idea? It seemed an impossible reaction now. "I'll let them know. They'll be almost as thrilled as me."

They started walking down the path out to the street, and Shane had the thought that while they'd taken this trajectory in reverse just the night before, they'd been much slower then, seemingly trying to draw out every step. This time, both of them were sped by an excitement he could feel as they left the Cypress behind.

The two of them kept up their conversation as they walked through the city, leaving the Barlowe Estates further and further behind until they'd made their way to the lower of the city markets. Many of the stalls had been moved aside for open dancing space or for bands to perform, although a few remained open on the edges to serve food and drinks. Soft warm torchlight blended with the low gleam of the sun to bathe the square and turn its russet, umber hues into something almost golden. Laughter and chatter sprung up everywhere around the two of them-- two children shrieked with joy as they dashed through the crowd, a young woman took her friend by the hand to excitedly tug her toward the drinks, and a man dressed to the nines in a white suit was seemingly having the time of his life dancing to the music surrounded by a circle of cheering bystanders.

It was unexpectedly nice to have so many people here. Shane wasn't exactly a crowds person, and he generally preferred to watch them from the sidelines than be among them, but... Now that he was here, the excitement was utterly contagious. It was stamping out some omnipresent feeling of loneliness hanging over him and making it feel like a distant memory.

He could hear the brass ensemble playing loud and proud from the other side of the square, and closer to their right was a band of musicians from the Western Isles providing a rhythmic beat on the drums for the people nearby to dance in tempo too. Turning away from the market, Shane smiled at Kirk again.

"Feels like the whole city made it here," he said with a laugh.

"I'm not surprised," Kirk said with a smile. "The energy here is contagious."

"I think it's claimed us," Shane said, taking another step in the crowd and waving him along with a grin. "Come on!"

Beaming in a fully smile, Kirk followed after Shane with an excited laugh, reaching for his hands. Shane took his hands and held on as they joined the dancers, feeling almost giddy now. Kirk's hands were strong and steady but with a gentle grip that didn't crush. The drums had an upbeat but navigable rhythm, and Shane wasn't sure which of them started to dance first and which of them was mirroring the other, but they both fell into moving naturally to the beat. It was an unchoreographed kind of dance, determined instead on the feel and energy of the music, as a lot of dancing from the isles tended to be. Shane met Kirk's eyes, still grinning as they danced together.

It was an energetic kind of dance; it was fast paced, and the drums didn't slow for anything, no matter how tired the dancers got. Shane didn't know when the end of the song was coming up, but Kirk must've sensed some shift in the rhythm-- or been familiar with how it went-- because he raised their clasped hands up, and Shane understood the signal. He went for the spin, assuming that a moment later, he would be spun back the other way. But instead, Kirk caught him in his arms and held him as the last, low beat of the drum resounded in the air. And while the crowd cheered and clapped for the musicians, Shane felt himself freeze in time there, heart racing, color rushing to his cheeks again as he tilted his head to look at Kirk half-breathlessly.

Kirk was smiling warmly, and slowly let go of Shane, as if he didn't really want to. Their hands remained intertwined.

"You're a natural," he said.

Shane laughed, beaming at him. "Or maybe I just have a good partner."

Kirk's eyes brightened playfully.

"It takes two," Kirk said, pulling away, but still holding Shane's hand as he gently led them out of the thick of the crowd. "Though, I think I need a break after that. I worked up an appetite."

"Me too," Shane agreed, following along. "See anywhere to eat you like?"

"I think we passed one on the way in with kebabs," he said, tilting up his head. "It smelled amazing."

"I must've missed that, but it sounds great," Shane said. "They make the best street food."

"All the more reason to try it," Kirk said.

They found their way to the stand, each ordering a skewer, and Shane pointed out a newly vacant bench that the two of them could comfortably eat at before rejoining the dance later. The roasted meat had a mouth-watering, fragrant smell of herbs, and they hardly waited to dig in.

"How's Tiberius?" Shane asked, once they'd gotten a few bites in and were eating less ravenously. "Does he seem better?"

Kirk's brows raised, and he finished up chewing his current bite, nodding and holding up a finger to wait. Shane nodded patiently.

"Not great news there, unfortunately," Kirk said a bit awkwardly. "He, um. Left, this morning, when none of us were awake. All he left was a note saying he'd be back 'later,' but he missed his doctor's appointment. I think he was supposed to have his stitches removed or something? We haven't heard from him all day."

Shane frowned softly. "That's not good news, no."

"I mean, he's grown, and I don't think he's off doing anything stupid," Kirk said. "But missing your doctor's appointment? That's. Well."

Kirk pressed his lips together and raised his brows as he looked off to the side.

"I want to say that maybe he just forgot," he said. "But either way, still not a good sign."

Sympathy washed over Shane-- for both Kirk and Tiberius-- and he rested a gentle hand on Kirk's shoulder.

"I hope he'll get back safely," he said softly. "And that the rescheduling process works out. I'll see if I can try and check in on him again this week, too."

Kirk nodded, but didn't look too encouraged. More sad and resigned, than anything.

"Sure," he said. "I hope so, too."

Shane offered him a genuine, if somewhat solemn, smile. "He seemed alright the last time I reached out after taking your advice. We went to the library. It seemed to relax him."

"That doesn't surprise me," Kirk said with a small tilt of his head to the side. "He's always liked reading."

"I can tell," Shane said with a light chuckle. "He read a whole book in one sitting. His focus was pretty impressive."

"Impressive," Kirk echoed with a faint grin. "Unless you're trying to get his attention."

Shane shook his head amusedly. "Oh, no no no. You don't get between a reader and their book."

"Are you the same way?" Kirk said, grin turning more playful. "Should I take that as a warning?"

"Hmm." Shane tapped his lips thoughtfully. "I'll allow you to pull me away from reading for a handful of situations. One, the building is on fire. Two, Shrimp or another cat is doing something cute. Three, you have another book to give me. Four..." Shane paused, then grinned at Kirk. "Actually, for most people, the list ends there, but I can make an exception for you."

Kirk watched Shane fondly, looking a little amused but pleased.

"Well now I feel special," he said.

"Well, good," Shane said with a small laugh. "You are. You get special book-distraction privileges."

"I suppose, in turn, you could have special lab-distraction privileges," Kirk said. "Were you ever you to interrupt me in my native environment."

"That's a fair trade," Shane agreed. "I won't sneak up on you. The science may not be as understanding and gracious as you."

"That's true," Kirk said. "Science is not always forgiving."

Although it was a statement Shane knew was true, he had the feeling it was backed by experience when Kirk said it.

"Has it ever had a bone to pick with you?" he asked, half-jokingly. "It sounds like you know a thing or two about that."

Kirk smiled faintly, but it didn't pull wide to the corners of his mouth like it did when he seemed happy. This one felt like more of a mask, and there was a subtle look of pain in his eyes - which he averted to his lap.

"Oh," Kirk said with a small laugh. "Well, I've had my fair share of accidents, I assure you. But none in recent years. I wouldn't have a job if I did. If you don't know what you're doing with chemistry, it can easily and quite literally blow up in your face."

Shane felt the lingering amusement slowly slip from his face. For a moment, he felt the urge to reach out again, even though Kirk was obviously trying to act normal, not pained, so he didn't.

He did realize with a bit of a start, though, that his hand was still resting on Kirk's shoulder. So maybe that counted without having to do anything new.

"It's risky work," he agreed, more gently. "Which makes it brave work. And you seem cut out for every bit of it."

Kirk smiled a little softer. "Most people don't really see scientists as brave," he said with faint amusement. "But I'll quote you later the next time someone questions it."

Shane matched his soft smile. "You have full permission to cite this and any other statement I've made or will make about science."

"I might, in fact, tell Hellen as soon as possible," Kirk said. "So she'll stop teasing me about being a 'nerd.'"

"Nerds can be very brave," Shane said. "There, I said it."

Kirk snorted. "You've just described all of my friends."

Shane let out a slightly surprised laugh, smile flickering a bit wider. "The rest of the King's Hand? Are they secretly nerds?"

"Some not-so secretly," Kirk said, tilting his head to the side. "I think Hellen's the only one who may not fit the bookish definition, but, we're all specialists in different areas - and quite obsessed with our areas of expertise."

"Sounds nerdy enough to me," Shane agreed.

"Speaking of bookish, though," Kirk said, his smile turning more attentive and curious. "How are your studies going? I know you mentioned you're still working on them through the summer."

Shane felt his smile brighten with excitement at the question. He couldn't help it.

"I did get some good news this morning," he said, tone eager. "A professor told me I had special permission to access the restricted section of the library. They keep a lot of rare, old books in there because they're delicate, valuable, or need special care. I've been hoping to get in there for the last two years and now it's actually happening." He grinned wider. "It's going to be like my birthday happening early."

Kirk mirrored Shane's excitement.

"Really?" he asked. "Shane, that's amazing. You'll probably be one of the few people who's touched some of those books since the calamity."

"I know," Shane said, his voice pitching with excitement into something like a squeal as he grinned impossibly wider, but he didn't even mind. "I can't-- I can't even believe that I get this chance. It's an incredible research opportunity and my head is already swimming with the possibilities."

"That's amazing," Kirk said, smiling bigger. "I'm so excited for you. How soon do you get to go in?"

"Later this week. It's going to be such a long three days." Shane sighed, but he couldn't maintain his disappointment in the face of this subject, smiling wide again. "I can't wait. This makes for strange good news, to a lot of people, but-- I'm incredibly excited."

"As you should be!" Kirk said. "Not only is this something you're greatly interested in but it sounds like it could potentially greatly advance your studies. I know you mentioned you've been longing to further understand what the world was like before the calamity and this sounds like a promising doorway to more knowledge."

Shane nodded empathetically. "Yes. Yes. There's really only one way to learn more, and that's by studying and comparing different sources of the time period. So this really is a game-changer for my research."

"Such a shame you have to wait three whole days," Kirk said.

"Well, at least there's nice things to do in the meantime," Shane said, his smile softening. "Like eat good food and dance with special people."

"Yeah," Kirk agreed softly.

They kept on smiling in comfortable silence for some time. Kirk's shoulder was comfortingly warm under his palm, and he thought they might have been sitting closer together. Just as Shane was about to resume the conversation, though, he watched as the smile slowly faded from Kirk's face as his gaze flicked to something over Shane's shoulder. His brows pinched together seriously as his eyes narrowed a bit.

"What?" Shane asked, sitting up slightly, not sure if he should look around and trying to ask silently if he should.

"Not sure," Kirk murmured quietly. "I think we're being watched."

Shane tried to peek through the corner of his eye without turning his head, but that didn't let him see anything.

"Watched?" he echoed, quietly.

"You don't know a tall, pale woman with questionable motives, do you?" Kirk asked, like he was trying to keep his tone neutral, while speaking softly.

Shane felt his heart quicken.

"No," he said as calmly as he could.

Kirk hummed, slowly reaching to set his hand on Shane's knee.

"We're okay," Kirk said, softer. "There's too many people here for anyone to try anything."

Shane nodded slightly, taking a deep breath and steeling himself. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he looked over his shoulder to see what Kirk was looking at.

He didn't... see anyone. Well, he did, but it seemed like he was just watching the crowd do its thing. There was no one around who matched Kirk's description, or anyone else lurking in the shadows of an alley with suspicious intent.

Confused, Shane tore his gaze away and looked back to Kirk.

"Did she leave?" he asked slowly.

"Right when you turned," Kirk murmured. "Seems she didn't want you seeing."

Shane pressed his lips together, suddenly feeling cold in the summer air. He didn't know what to make of that.

"Oh," he said quietly. "Well, that's... lovely."

Kirk turned to Shane on the bench, reaching to hold Shane's hand.

"Hey, I'll keep my eyes open, alright?" he said. "Nothing's going to happen tonight. We get to have this."

Shane looked down at their hands, then back up at Kirk's face, managing a soft smile.

"Okay," he said softly, squeezing his hand. "You're right. Thank you."

Kirk rubbed his thumb on the back of Shane's hand gently.

"Come on, then. Do you feel up for another dance?" Kirk asked with a tilt of his head.

Shane nodded, his smile brightening more hopefully. "Let's do it."

With a small nod, Kirk lightly tugged Shane's hand, leading him back out into the crowds and music.

As they got closer, he heard the change in music since they'd left. The noisy, upbeat brass had been swapped out with a woodwind ensemble. He saw a flutist, an oboist, and a couple of clarinet players, and after a few minutes of intent listening, he realized he recognized the song. It was a rare thing to hear it this far outside Lettera's borders, but it was, undoubtedly, Summer Harvest.

Shane slowed a little in his steps, looking at Kirk with an excited smile to see if he recognized it too. Kirk met Shane's eyes with anticipation, his eyes alit with clear recognition. With a small tug on Shane's hand, Kirk tilted his head in invitation to the group dance circling in front of the Terran band.

Shane actually knew this dance. Unlike the one they'd done earlier, Letteran dances had set choreography to a particular tune, and it was common for these routines to be memorized for whenever music was played somewhere. If Kirk was leading him in, he likely knew it too.

Shane squeezed Kirk's hand gently another time before following him into the circle of dancers.

They took the hands of the people on either side of them who absorbed them into the group, joining in on the sweeping and kicking leg movements, circle rotations and side steps, and occasional claps to mark the rhythm. Everyone was grinning and joyous, happy to just be here. Judging by the crowd around their ring who didn't know how to dance this one but was curiously and supportively watching, it seemed as though they felt the excitement too. Through it all, Shane's hand almost never left Kirk's.

They got to have this.

When the musicians played their last, triumphant note, the crowd burst into cheering, and some of the dancers in their group eagerly swapped out for other. In the short lull between dances, Shane lightly bumped his shoulder with Kirk's in appreciation.

"I'm surprised I still remember it," Kirk said with a smile and a huff. "You were great out there."

"Hey, you were too," Shane reminded him, smiling playfully. "You've still got it."

Kirk laughed. "Really? I was just trying to copy you!"

"Really," Shane confirmed with a laugh of his own and another nudge. "See all these people? They're going to go home talking about you, the legendary dancer of the night."

Kirk smiled, turning his gaze to the crowd around them, then looking back to meet Shane's with deep fondness.

"Dancers," he corrected.

And all this time, Kirk's hand was still in Shane's. Kirk squeezed Shane's fingers gently.

Shane squeezed his hand back as a feeling of soft, comfortable peace sank over him. He didn't know how Kirk did it-- how he could go from feeling like his heart was about to stop from anxiety to his heart swelling with warmth and happiness just by being in his presence. A presence he'd only known since the start of the month. He didn't have the answer to that wondering of his, but... For now, he was happy to just be here, hand in hand with Kirk, exchanging matching affectionate looks.

They got to have this.

"No," Eve said dully with crossed arms the second Jordan whirled around holding two breaded pieces of meat on sticks. "I'm not eating that."

"Come on, Eve," Jordan said. "It's fried. It tastes great!"

She cast him a flat look, pressing her lips together. "I don't even eat meat anymore," she murmured.

Jordan huffed, taking a bite out of each of them.

"More for me," he said with his mouth full. "You're missing out."

Eve sighed, giving him the barest of head shakes. Turning away, she led the way down the quiet alley, away from the food stands that grabbed too much of Jordan's attention. The crowd was thick, swarming with people that she'd rather avoid.

How he managed to convince her to venture down the alley of fried meats, she didn't know. And how he managed to convince her to dress up nicer than she usually did for a dance she had no plans on attending, she wasn't sure either.

Theorizing only made her groan from annoyance. She theorized that he knew she couldn't really say no to him.

With two miraculously half-eaten sticks of food, Jordan pointed off into the crowd. He said something with his mouth full that was hardly intelligible. With a blank face, she stared at him in response, eyes narrowing.

"Free food sign," he said, then pointed at her chest. "Non-meat foods."

"I've already eaten," she replied simply. Which wasn't a lie; she had a few slices of chopped vegetables a few hours ago.

"Awh, come onnnnnn Eve!" Jordan said, whining. "It's free! You have to get it because it's free!"

Eve shot him a disapproving look, countering, "Just because it's free, doesn't mean it's good. It's free because it's not desired."

"That's not how it works, Eve," Jordan said matter-of-factly. "They only do the free food deals at these events to entice future customer loyalty. We get to try their food now knowing it will be good if we want to go to their restaurants later."

Fine. If he was this stubborn, she would relent.

The selection of free food stands was not as wide, of course. As Jordan stated, free food was more of a marketing campaign to broaden awareness of the vendor. Often, these vendors were either entirely new and desired increased publicity to gain customers, or they had already been in the market for a substantial period but were having trouble gaining repeated consistent customers.

And so Eve settled for the latter. With silent determination, she marched ahead with her eyes set on the "Chocolate-Dipped Veggies" sign. Naturally, the vendor had no customers, and so the owner brightened seeing them approach.

"Hello," Eve greeted, not bothering to wait for Jordan to catch up. "I will have one of everything, please."

"Absolutely," the vendor said with eagerness, quickly turning to serve her. Judging by his enthusiasm, he was just happy to see someone wanted his product.

Jordan gave Eve the most bombastic side-eye when he caught up to her. She, of course, paid him no mind.

"Thank you," Eve said, taking the paper plate of assorted chocolate-dipped vegetables. It was surprsingly quite heavy, considering the half-dozen chocolate-dipped asparagus, broccoli, baby carrots, and radishes that were prepared.

"Of course!" the vendor exclaimed. "You two have yourselves a wonderful day!"

Mustering a half-smile, she nodded her thanks and then turned away. With Jordan following in her step beside her, she wordlessly passed him the plate, otherwise not reacting.

"You picked the worst booth possible, you know that?" Jordan muttered, taking the plate anyway.

"Like you once said, and I quote..." she began, holding both hands in the air to finger-quote him.

Jordan already started groaning before she could speak.

"'The best foods is the free foods,'" she finished with a feigned, pleasant smile that disappeared after she recalled the quote.

"It's like you remember everything just to use it later to torture me," Jordan said flatly before taking a bite of a chocolate-dipped carrot with a loud crunch.

"And?" Eve pressed. "What's the verdict? Is it the best food you've ever eaten?"

"I'm going to eat it because I won't waste food," Jordan said through spiteful chews.

Eve sighed, turning back to focus on leaving the food alley for good this time. "Good," she said firmly. "You needed to eat more vegetables."

"What are you, my mom?" Jordan said through loud crunching. "Please."

"I think you're more of the child, considering you were only enticed to eat vegetables if they were dipped with chocolate," Eve shot back with a frown. "Your diet can't only consist of fried meats and candy, Jordan. You'd die of a heart attack by age fifty."

"Listen," Jordan said, pointing his now-empty former meat-sticks at Eve in accusation. "I do eat vegetables! The cook makes them everyday!"

"How many?" she pushed. "Two tiny sugar-glazed carrots?"

Jordan frowned spitefully, clearly not wanting to give his answer because he knew she was right. Eve shook her head and weakly shoved the plate towards him.

"Eat your chocolate carrots," she mumbled.

"You bully me," Jordan complained. Yet, he ate another vegetable.

This time, Jordan didn't quite consume his food at an unnatural pace since he was too busy sulking, one crunch at a time. Along with his loud munching, pleasant music faded into the background as Eve led the way down the alley that opened up to the main plaza. What was previously a shopping distric of outdoor market vendors was now a series of dance floors with spinning pedestrians. The crowd was laughing, twirling, and dancing to the upbeat music.

The alley opened up between two groups of musicians, and so a confusing cacophany of charming noise filled the air. Eve recognized the wind ensemble to her left to be a Terran quartet. She recognized the instruments and sections of the patterned choreography. On her right was a brass ensemble, which was easily identifiable as a Desert Sands band. Flashy music played boldly as the dancers swung around together with quick, unbeat steps.

Eve didn't plan on participating. She was perfectly content at where she was: the outskirts of the crowd, at the edge of the plaza where she could have a silent viewing of the event without her involvement. She would actually rather not go at all, but Jordan did, and so this was her compromise.

It was better this way anyways, since they often conducted sensitive work. It was better to not be seen.

"I want to dance so bad," Jordan said faintly. His plate of vegetables was empty, now.

A familiar blur of a face caught her attention. Slightly leaning in, Eve squinted at the crowd of the dancering swinging in the Ruddlun music crowd.

Was that...

"Oh my gods," Jordan said. He must've recognized him too.

Hendrik?

He was dancing. Truly dancing, in clothes outside of his faded blue jeans and one-of-three short-sleeve collared shirts that was always tucked in with a buckled belt. But Hendrik dancing wasn't what caught her eye.

It was who he was dancing with.

"Oh my gods," Jordan said again, this time with more emphasis as an amused grin formed on his face and laughter tickled at the back of his voice. "He actually did it."

Now with excess alarm, Eve firmly placed her hand on his shoulder, staring coldly at the man Hendrik was dancing with. She recognized the streak of white hair anywhere, the smug smile, the gaudy outfits.

"Is he dancing with Alexander Kingsman?" she incredulously scoffed with complete betrayal.

"That's exactly who he's dancing with," Jordan said with amusement. "I didn't think he had it in him. But damn, from the looks of it, he's-- gods, look at his face!"

Mouth agape, Eve stared at the two of them twirling and swinging each other around with quick steps. During the brassy upswing of the song, Hendrik even picked Alexander up, effortlessly flipping him in the air as if he were supposed to be a gymnast.

Hendrik had always joked that he'd obliterate the "silver fox," and throwing him around was not entirely outside the realm of possibilities for him... but Eve would never have guessed that he do it like this.

Truly, Hendrik had listened to Bo when he said he'd flirt with Alexander. Somehow, this did and did not surprise her.

Jordan elbowed Eve's side.

"Eve," he said with a snicker. "Look who Hendrik brought for backup."

And with a vague point of his finger, Eve spotted the cheery, rosy-cheeked cowboy from Hendrik's childhood: Dallas Feller, dancing at the other end of the square to the same song.

Everyone in the resistance had listened to Hendrik's many reminiscent rants of the "good ole days" with adventures of him and Dallas, though she had never actually seen the man, nor thought she ever would. It appeared that changed today. All because Hendrik brought his friend... to a dancing date. With Alexander Kingsman.

"This is... so..." she sputtered out with fiercely creased brows from her focused stare, not even knowing what to say about all this.

"Hey, Eve, I don't know why you're mad," Jordan said with a laugh. "I mean, look! He's doing his job."

"I'm not mad," she corrected, shooting him a sharp glare. "Just confused."

"Sorry, your confused and your mad face look the same as your sad and your focused face," Jordan said. "It's hard to tell."

Eve felt her frown deepening at that, which she realized too late only proved her point. Jordan smirked.

"He's dancing with Alexander Kingsman," she reminded, throwing her arm towards them as a harsh gesture. "The same man who has trafficked all the recently missing mages." She sighed, lowering her arm and shaking her head. "I don't understand. Why would Hendrik be dancing with him? He's not gaining new information by cheerfully dancing."

Jordan's smirk disappeared, and he looked out at the dancing square, more serious and quickly sobered. It took him longer, this time, to come up with a reply, now that he wasn't being quippy or annoying. He glanced back at her, observing her for a moment.

"Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do to gain trust from a valuable source," he said lowly.

Eve shook her head with skepticism. "Is that what's happening? Or has he lost himself and forgotten who he's dealing with here?"

Jordan huffed through his nose.

"If anyone's not likely to lose themselves," Jordan said. "It's Hendrik. He may be dancing with Alexander but we all know how much he loathes him. He's definitely not enjoying himself out there. I hope he's able to get something out of Kingsman, this way."

Eve didn't quite believe that, considering how easily Hendrik was swayed during the recent meeting. He had strong morals, yes, but he also had strong idolizations. All it took was one small word of encouragement from Bo, and Hendrik's previously staunch and stubborn attitude towards Alexander dissipated enough that he truly considered the possibility of "flirting"-- or in this case, dancing.

Jordan took in a deep breath.

"I know you don't do field work as much, Eve," he said. "But... Hendrik is an exception here. He doesn't normally do this kind of stuff. The rest of us, though, we have to come up with different ways to get into spaces and connect with people that push us outside of our comfort zones so we can get the information we need. It's not always enjoyable. I don't know how fit Hendrik is for this kind of thing, but... I hope he learns from it. Either, that it doesn't work for him to use this strategy, or that he actually is capable of more than he thought."

Eve knew Jordan was trying to soften her. Disarm her, even. Get her to see reason. He was only ever this serious and long-winded during those moments.

And he should be more serious, anyways. Eve just wished he'd stop having these serious moments when she'd rather be angry and disappointed.

With a silent sigh, she crossed her arms and leaned against the brick edge of the wall, emptily staring out across the dance floor.

"Go dance if you want," she said lowly. "I'm not going to stop you."

Jordan looked to Eve, his face suddenly brightening, like he was a kid who was just told he could play outside to run and roll around the grass.

"You sure you don't want to come?" he asked.

"Go," she said instead with an annoyed sweep of her arm.

Though Jordan did seem disappointed that she wasn't joining him, the expression quickly faded as he looked back at the crowd and hurried off to jump in the Terran dance floor.

He, however, didn't get very far. He'd barely gotten ten steps in before he quickly wheeled back around, weaving back through people to return with eyes widened in panic.

"Hey, so, uhhhh, you know how I'm supposed to be watching the Hawkings right?" he murmured rapidly and barely loud enough to hear.

Eve froze, stiffening. The music seemed to halt in her head, pausing in time as she stared wide-eyed at him. "Yes? Why?" she asked quickly, feeling her anxiety spike.

"So I've been meaning to tell you guys about Shane's interactions with the King's Hand," Jordan continued speaking hurriedly in a whisper. "Ever since you told me to keep an eye on them, I've been, well, you know, keeping an eye on them and nothing bad has happened really except that - well maybe this could be bad for us, or, I don't know, it's too soon to tell--"

"Jordan!" Eve cut in with a harsh whisper, already panicking. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I think Kirk Fayek and Shane Hawking are on a date?" Jordan finally said, gritting his teeth together with a small hiss.

The sentence didn't even sink in right away. She openly stared at him, processing, only uttering a bland "What?" through her teeth.

Jordan, however, only stared at the group dancing to the Terran beat. Eve sharply turned towards the crowd, eyes darting around with a heavy hope that Jordan was dead wrong. To her dismay, she indeed spotted Shane, dressed quite formally than usual and bouncing to the beat hand-in-hand with no other than Mr. Fayek. She was not close enough to make out their faces, but the exchanged joy radiating between them was palpable.

A few seconds passed. Time felt like it came to a complete halt, slowing down and distorting the noise around them until it was a hazy static, and then dead silence. Shane and Kirk held each other's gazes, in the air from a jump, paused in a pristine moment of time as she took it all in. Absorbed it. Detailed it. Memorized it.

And then the fleeting second was over, and everything came rushing back in at once. The cacophony of noise, the landing of their feets, the trumpet next door belting out a solo, overpowering the wind instruments and being completely out of sync with the Terran dancers in her view.

A wash of undefined emotions flooded her body, but panic pushed its way to the front first.

"Kirk Fayek?!" she whispered urgently, ducking lower as the anxious paranoia took control of her instincts. "Why is Shane with Kirk Fayek? What does he want? How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I didn't know if it was a big deal?" Jordan said through a grimace.

"Yes, it's a big deal, Jordan!" she rubutted angrily.

"I mean, it wasn't related to politics!" Jordan said.

"He's part of the King's Hand!"

"They were flirting! It was flirting stuff!" Jordan defended. "I don't know!"

"Jordan. Jordan," Eve called desperately, glancing between him and the dancing crowd. She felt dizzy from the looming stress and had to hold on to his shoulder to steady herself.

"It didn't seem urgent! I didn't know it was getting serious!" Jordan pleaded.

Eve hastily swept an arm towards the Desert Sands dancers. "Jordan, Hendrik is flirting with Alexander to gain information on him!" she said lowly, having to spell it out for him. "Have you considered that, maybe, there is a very strong possibility that someone-- maybe, say, I don't know, a mage-murdering member of the King's Hand-- would think to do the same towards the child of two mage-sympathizing parents of politics?!"

Jordan's grimace turned into a pained, dread-filled frown.

"Oh gods," he muttered with a groan.

"You should have told me earlier!" she said again, feeling her vision blur from the sea of uncertain possibilities that swam before her. So many things could go wrong now. She felt like they were on the verge of losing complete control. "You've been watching him, right? How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know, it-- they've hung out, like three times?" Jordan said. "It was casual! It was with their whole King's Hand group! This is the first time I've seen them alone alone! I didn't know they planned this!"

Eve furiously shook her head, unable to accept this. She couldn't. Wouldn't.

"Jordan, Kirk wanted to ally with me too," she admitted with deep dread.

Jordan blinked. "What?"

"The why doesn't matter right now. What does matter is--"

"No, I actually think it does?" Jordan interrupted. "What do you mean -- you can't just drop that and not expect me to wonder what the fuck that means."

"What if it's connected?" she went on anyways, ignoring his question. "What if Kirk knows about me? About you? And what if-- what if--"

"When did you meet Kirk, Eve?" Jordan butted in. "Does this have to do with your follow-up mission you conveniently didn't share about at the meeting?"

Eve bit her lip, biting back hostile words she'd have otherwise spewed in defense. Emotions were running high. She had to get a hold of herself.

"Yes. We met," she confirmed coldly in a lower voice so they wouldn't attract undue attention. "It was informal and nondescript. He wanted to share intelligence on the Blue Suns. I said no. That's all that happened, Jordan." She frowned, unable to hold back the accusatory glare as she pointedly added, "And is also not as important to the revelation at hand here."

"Okay, but what would a member of the King's Hand want with a Hawking?" Jordan said, matching her hushed tone. "It's not like he's going to change their beliefs or anything."

"What does anyone want with someone in a position of power?" Eve countered. "We shouldn't discount the sway of power at stake."

"You think he's trying to get dirt on the Hawkings while he's here?" Jordan asked.

"That's your job to figure out!" she said whispered harshly. "You were supposed to watch him!"

Jordan let out a groan. "Does that mean I have to work now?" he asked with a pained expression.

Eve tensed her jaw, staring at him. "We are never truly off the clock, Jordan."

"Sometimes I hate our job," Jordan muttered. "Fine. I'll go."

He threw his hands up in the air, raising his brows and widening his eyes as he turned to leave.

"Have fun doing nothing!" Jordan said spitefully.

"Don't get caught," Eve called back sternly as her final farewell, watching him angrily march away like a child throwing a tantrum.

Just as abruptly, she turned to hastily walk the other way, down the alley and away from the festival.

She had work to do.

This was getting tiring.

After what felt like a whole week of his head pounding, James's head was finally letting up. It had been five days, but it may as well have been a year because this happened every other week. The relief in between was never a long enough respite, and even though James was glad for it, he felt like he already had to brace himself for when a new migraine would hit next.

He took this morning slowly. The night before, when he'd got home late after the dancing had long since been done, his friends had stayed up to wait for him.

It felt like an intervention. It was a useless conversation. As usual, it was awful.

Carter took control of it from the start, Ingrid was too pissed to even say her piece this time, and Kirk and Hellen were the only ones trying to be reasonable, but Carter talked over them. Fonzi was the only one not back yet, because apparently, he'd gone out with a date to the dance. So had Kirk, who went with Shane Hawking, but he came home at a more "reasonable" hour. Whatever any of that meant.

It took energy to be happy for them. It took energy to be happy at all. He tried to hear them out, but everything they were asking of him were things he'd already lost: namely trust, with them.

He'd given his trust to Carter and Ingrid the most, and they'd thrown it in his face, practically mocking him with it. Fonzi never cared enough to get that close, Kirk had always been closer to Hellen and Fonzi so they never really got to know each other. And Hellen...

Well. Maybe she was the only one he could truly believe when she said she cared.

But she'd been struggling.

They both were.

It felt wrong to compare their situations. She'd lost a fiance, he'd lost a friend. They both survived a war they didn't mean to end. Hellen had been struggling before it all was over, but when they finally got to go home was when it all caught up to her. That was when she picked up drinking, and he picked up smoking. The latter never worked for him, and he hated the smell of it. But Hellen dove right in; and no one was really able to pull the reins as she willingly used alcohol to cope with the pain of her loss.

Since then, her attempts at sobriety came in waves. Kirk usually was the one to help bring her back again.

And if James was being honest, he almost felt jealous.

Hellen had Kirk - a friend who really cared and was patient enough with her to stay by her side even when she relapsed, over and over.

James felt like all of his closest friends gave up on him before his struggles even began. Now, he felt more estranged from them than ever, and he knew it was his fault, too. He wasn't helping things by pulling away. But he didn't know what to do anymore.

Nothing felt safe. And he hadn't felt safe for a long time.

James sat at the breakfast table with a vacant stare, poking at his plate. The others were talking, but he wasn't paying attention. He rolled a singular pea from one side of the plate to the other with his finger. It was all that remained of the chicken pot pie they'd been given.

A harsh flick to his leg brought him back.

"Stop playing with your food," Ingrid said.

But he didn't know why she even bothered. What benefit was there to her, to keep nagging? They weren't together anymore. Why should she care? No one else around this table cared. Maybe if she'd asked how he was doing, instead of merely making sure he presented himself better to others, all of this would be different.

But no, that would be casting the blame on her, wouldn't it?

James looked away, smushing the remaining pea with his fork. He heard Ingrid sigh.

"She was so fun," Fonzi said.

James hadn't really been paying attention to their prior conversation, but he quickly put together that he was talking about whomever he was with at the dance the night prior.

"She had the voice of an angel," Fonzi went on. "And man, could she dance! If I knew Ruddlan had ladies like this I would've come here sooner! Military girls take so much more work to loosen up -- no offense--"

"None taken," Hellen said with a shrug.

"I think I'll see her again," Fonzi said. "She said she works at this shop in the city center."

"Oh, yeah?" Hellen asked.

"Yeah. Mel Sommers," Fonzi said dreamily. "Shall I compare her to a summer's day?"

Hold on a second. James turned to look at Fonzi, his brows creasing.

Sommers. Like the store? Sommers' Stitch + Sews? James already found himself frowning at the happenstance. Of course. What were the odds? Not that it mattered, much. He didn't think he'd be going back there, now. He'd gotten what he needed. Fonzi could have his fun, he supposed.

"Your jokes are awful," Hellen laughed.

"And yet," Fonzi said, popping up his shirt collar. "I get all the ladies."

"One lady," Kirk chimed in across the table. "And it sounds like she's a good one, so please be careful."

Fonzi scoffed. "I'm not a heartbreaker," Fonzi said.

Hellen and Kirk exchanged a skeptical look.

"Your history might say otherwise," Kirk said with a strained smile.

"Just be nice," Hellen said.

"I am always nice," Fonzi defended.

"Sometimes a little too nice," Kirk said.

"ExcUUUUuuUSe me," Fonzi drawled. "Sorry, I don't think you get to talk with how nice you're being to the boy next door, Mr. Romance pants."

"Wow," Hellen said flatly.

Kirk raised up his hands. "Alright, alright," he said. "Point taken."

"At least he's serious about being nice," Hellen said.

"What, for three months, you're actually thinking serious?" Fonzi asked in some surprise.

James glanced over at Fonzi curiously. Because, although he hadn't really been that involved with whatever Kirk and Shane had been up to, he was curious. Shane seemed genuinely invested on his end, and so did Kirk, but it had all been happening rather quickly since their arrival in Ruddlan.

Though, he supposed, with only three months here, maybe Kirk was trying to gain ground fast.

Not that he was trying to make any commentary or give any advice on what others did with their love lives. His was in shambles.

"Okay, okay," Kirk said with an appeasing smile. "Yes, I'm not just going for a fling, here, but can you all just-- I don't know, be normal about it? I'm trying to be as realistic about this as possible."

Fonzi folded his arms, leaning back into his chair with a newfound investment in the conversation.

"Oh, so you want to get serious with the Hawking kid?" Fonzi asked.

"Can we stop calling him a kid, first of all," Kirk said flatly.

"He is a grown man," Hellen chimed in.

"Sorry, sorry," Fonzi said in mock apology. "Hawking man."

"Shane," Kirk said, even more unimpressed. "And I'm going to give it time. It's just one date. It went well, but I'm not trying to rush things."

"See?" Hellen said pleasantly, gesturing to Kirk. "Like he said. Realistic."

"So, what, you're judging me for wanting a summer fling, then?" Fonzi asked.

"No one said they're judging--" Hellen tried to say.

"But you were thinking it!" Fonzi said, pointing at Hellen's head in over-the-top dramatics.

Hellen's mouth pulled back into a flat frown and she looked out at Kirk, mildly annoyed. Kirk got up from the table with a sigh.

"Do what you want with your life, Fonzi," Kirk said, picking up his plate. "Just be aware of how you're affecting the other people in it."

"Wow," Fonzi said. "Thanks, life guru."

Kirk raised his brows and cast Fonzi another unimpressed side-eye, but left the dining room. Ingrid got up silently, slipping out behind him.

There was a brief silence as it was just Fonzi, Hellen, and James at the table.

Carter had yet to be seen this morning. James didn't know why it had him on edge, not knowing where Carter was.

"Welp," Fonzi blurted, getting up to leave. "I'm going to go figure out where this race is today. See if I can't put some bets down or something. I'm going to every event of this festival or gods so help me."

James watched as Fonzi disappeared into the hall, and the awkward, thick silence that followed him everywhere filled the room once more.

He could feel Hellen's eyes land on him before he looked her way, and he kind of wished he hadn't.

It'd been a while since they'd really talked.

He hated that they could still see the pain in each other's eyes. He wished they didn't have to acknowledge it.

"You seem better today," Hellen said, softer. "How's your head?"

James looked down at his plate.

"Better," he agreed. "It's... subsided. For now."

"That's good."

James briefly bit the inside of his cheek.

"How have-- how have you been doing?" he asked meekly.

He didn't know if he even had the right to ask anymore.

Hellen's expression softened with sadness.

"I don't know," she said faintly. "I think that -- being here, and seeing all of the joy that the festival brings the city... I thought it would be a good distraction."

She shrugged, letting out a heavy sigh.

"It doesn't feel fair, you know," she said. "It's beautiful, that life goes on, and people still get to celebrate, and dance, and laugh, and live. But it all still feels kind of cruel that..."

She let out an even heavier sigh, reaching up to hold her forehead as she leaned her elbow on the table.

"I feel like I just keep repeating myself," she muttered, pausing for a moment before looking up to meet James's eyes again. "I wish I could just move on, sometimes, you know? But I just keep thinking... I wish he was here. I wish we could share all of this. I wish it was easier."

James felt his heart ache for her.

Because he did understand. He wished the same, and he knew how hard it was to move on from the death of someone you loved. Someone you gave your whole heart to and more.

"Me too," he said quietly, wishing he had something better to offer.

They sat together in silence for a while. Neither of them had anything good to say. Anything they had to say had already been said, many times over - but that didn't take away the weight of it.

The loss still remained, and so did the love that had nowhere else to go.

"I'm sorry about last night," Hellen said suddenly. "For us... springing on you like that."

James shrugged barely. "It wouldn't be the first time," he said weakly.

"Oh gods, well that just makes it seem worse," Hellen murmured.

"No I-- I mean," James said. "I know it was coming from a good place, Hellen. I--"

At least, with you, was what he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, not wanting to rehash the same conversation for the hundredth time.

Hellen nodded, pressing her lips together in a small frown.

It looked like she wanted to say something more, but just as she looked ready to say it, they both sat up straighter when they heard heavy footsteps approaching the dining room.

James got up from his seat.

"Tiberius," Hellen whispered hurriedly. "I just want you to know--"

Carter entered the doorway, fully dressed and looking ready for the day. His eyes flitted over what remained of the breakfast food provided for them and then landed on Hellen, then James.

"Good morning," he said in a manner that might've been pleasant if Carter had smiled.

"Morning," Hellen said, more absently.

James didn't bother replying.

As Carter circled around to grab a seat, James was already at the door to leave. Fleeing, really, because he didn't want to be left alone in a room with Carter again. Not at the moment. He didn't think he could manage it.

As he darted for the front sitting room, he caught sight of Ingrid going back upstairs, and Kirk leaving out the front door. Fonzi was nowhere to be seen, and he didn't know where Caspar was at this hour. Maybe at the stables.

There was no agenda for the day, and James didn't have much space in his mind to make one, so he decided to merely leave. If his head was well enough to bear the light of the sun, he'd endure it, and maybe finally be able to be outside without feeling like death.

Expectations were on the ground, but he didn't care.

He stepped outside.

Almost immediately, he stopped in his tracks when he saw Kirk and Shane in the front yard, talking.

Kirk turned to look back at the door, but his face brightened when he and James made eye contact, and Kirk motioned to wave James over.

James had to... pause. For a moment.

Did he have to oblige this? The little voice in the back of his head said yes, unfortunately, and he forced himself to walk up to the two of them.

"Hey," Kirk said. "I'm about to head out, but Shane was stopping by to see you."

James blinked.

Oh, great. Another person who felt compelled to check in on him. Great. Sure. He had to force himself not to look miserable as he found himself looking at Shane who appeared painfully genuine.

“Hey,” Shane said, with a gentle smile. “What Kirk said. I wanted to see how you were doing and if you wanted to make it to the library again this week.”

James felt his stony neutral expression weaken.

He...

Gods, it shouldn't be this easy. He was already thinking of going to the library alone, anyway. Now if he went he'd run into Shane regardless, wouldn't he?

"Oh," he said. "Are you. Going? Now?"

“I might,” Shane said with a shrug, his smile turning a little more tentative. “I’ll be going back often, though, so if you’ve got other things to do now, you won’t miss your chance.”

James nodded. Right.

"I'm going to get going," Kirk said, briefly touching Shane's shoulder. "I'll catch you guys later."

Shane’s smile truly warmed as he turned to Kirk with a nod, genuine affection in his eyes. “Alright. Best of luck with your mission.”

James felt his eyes latch onto Kirk as Kirk departed with a wave.

What? Mission? His brows pinched together.

Shane kept watching Kirk as he walked away for a few more moments. When he turned back to James, he suddenly seemed more timid.

“Is that... what you’d like to do?” he offered. “Or is now not the time?”

James drew his brows together and pointed them upward.

"No, um -- now is fine," he said, not knowing how to go about this in a way that felt normal.

“Okay,” Shane said, flashing him another faint smile. “We can go now, then.”

"Okay," James said in agreement, not knowing what else to say.

And apparently, neither of them knew what to say, because they headed out together in silence, walking all the way out of the estate gates without saying another word. When their feet left the paved roads and hit the dirt, James felt a small sense of relief in leaving the manor behind - moreover, the people in it.

He glanced over his shoulder as they walked, eyeing the two guards dressed in the Ruddlan Red uniforms of the city militia that stood on either side of the estate gates. The guards closed the gate behind them.

The privacy of the estates should've been comforting, but for James, it made it feel more like a prison, being locked in at night.

He turned his attention back to Shane, noting that Shane seemed... nervous.

For a minute, James had assumed that was, perhaps, Shane's default state. That was, until he saw how dramatically Kirk's presence caused a shift in Shane's outward manner.

Maybe it wasn't that Shane was anxious with everyone. Maybe it was just that Shane was anxious with him.

Then why invite him to anything at all?

James still didn't understand it. There had to be some ulterior motive. Who put him up to this? Was it Carter? Kirk? His parents, even? There was no way Shane was interested in James because of his character or his personality. Hell, James was doing everything he could to not have a welcoming personality half the time.

But... maybe that was part of the problem.

Ugh.

"I'm not very good at coming up with things to talk about," he said, figuring it better to admit that truth than pull something pointless out of the air.

“Me neither.” Shane cracked a slight smile of understanding. “Are you more comfortable with silence?”

It would be unhelpful, at this point, to lie.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But not all silence is comfortable."

Which was vague. He should probably define the parameters.

"Usually, though, it's fine," he said quickly. "I'm..."

James sighed. This was why he stopped trying.

“Well…” Shane trailed off. “What about just right now, then?”

James nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

And thus the pain of feeling obligated to converse was alleviated, and they made their way to the library in silence. It was a relief when they were able to quietly part ways, Shane, to his studies, and James, to browse the books for something new to read.

This time, it took him longer to peruse the books. His head felt clearer, for the lack of pain in it, but his thoughts were now a cluttered mess: as if the lack of blinding agony finally made space for them to exist again without interruption.

He finally just picked something arbitrarily, taking it back to the table Shane had set out his things. He pulled up a cushioned chair and sat back, flipping over the cover and looking inside at the first page. He'd pulled something out of the non-fiction section; an educational reading on edible plant life and how to identify what was safe and what was best left alone. With a few seconds of self-reflection, James realized the selection wasn't really as arbitrary as he thought.

Always, in the depths of his subconscious, he was preparing for the worst. Knowing what was safe to eat and touch in the wilds was necessary for survival, and he'd tasted a bit of that when he'd been traveling through them during the war. But he knew he wasn't nearly as prepared as he ought to be.

It took him longer, this time, to get immersed in the book. He found himself reading the first page over and over again before he was finally able to comprehend it - not because it was poorly written, but because his attention was all over the place.

What did Lyall want with the King's Hand? What was Santiago really going to write in the paper? Why was Hild so hostile, at the shop? What did Shane want with him, if anything?

Spending time with him posted virtually no benefit to Shane or James. Did Kirk put him up to this?

Kirk would put him up to this, wouldn't he?

He was always trying to... fix things.

James looked up from his book. He hadn't read more than three pages. It was dismal.

Shane seemed rather focused on his reading, a notebook set out near his right hand as he furiously took notes. His handwriting wasn’t at all the scribbling James would expect from the speed of his pen, though— instead, Shane was writing in exceptionally neat print, with such little variation between the letters that it appeared almost like the work of a printing press. A moment later, James realized Shane wasn’t even looking at what he wrote. His eyes were fixed firmly on the book in front of him.

And then, as if this wasn’t impressive enough, Shane blindly drew a different notebook towards his other hand, picked up a new pen, and started writing in there too.

Despite this incredible level of focus on his work, Shane had to have sensed James’s gaze on him eventually. He looked up, giving him a confused look as he dropped both pens.

“What is it?” he whispered in a library-appropriate volume.

It felt like a stupid question to ask. Offensive, even. Shane was so... soft. He didn't know him that well, but he knew that much, from all of his conversations with him.

James sighed.

"Sorry," he murmured, looking back down at his book. "I'm just having trouble focusing."

Shane paused, looking at him a little more intently. He tilted his head.

“Is something wrong?” he asked softly.

Yeah. His whole life was wrong. Everything he'd believed was wrong. All of his relationships were wrong.

It was just great.

"No," he said, anyway. "It's just frustrating, I guess. My migraine's finally gone and now I can't focus to save my life."

Shane nodded, pursing his lips as he looked down at the book before James.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked. “Even if it’s just getting you a better book?”

James looked down at his book, then back up at Shane, then back at his book again. Maybe the book was the problem, but he had a gut feeling that it didn't really matter what he tried to read right now.

"Can I borrow a piece of paper?" James asked instead. "And a pen?"

Maybe he just needed to write this out.

Shane nodded, flipping to the back of his notebook to carefully and precisely tear out a sheet of paper. Then— because he apparently had one more pen on him than he had hands— Shane reached into his book bag and handed him another pen along with the paper. “Here.”

With a grateful nod, James took the piece of paper and promptly started writing, though he angled himself away from Shane, so his writing wouldn't be visible.

At first, he just wrote the first things that came to his head. A list of worries. It was a long one, and seeing it all written down didn't really bring him much comfort, so he started crossing off the things that were a lower priority, scratching them out so he could only see the things that mattered most.

He just needed to get out of his head. Just for a minute.

He stared at what remained of the list when he was done scraping over half of it away, narrowing it down to the bare bones.

He felt his heart grow heavy as he looked at what was left.

- how am I going to survive when this is all over?
- where can i go?
- will anyone even miss me?
- i'll never see my family again

James stared at it. For a long, long time.

Damnit, this was depressing. He ripped off the corner of the piece of paper. He didn't need to stare at this list. He didn't have answers to those questions, anyway, and it didn't help to think about it more when all it did was torture him.

He crumpled up the piece of paper and shoved it in his pocket, folding the piece of paper in half so he could rip off the bottom to have a cleaner, rectangular sheet to use. This one, he could use for something useful. Something that would actually help him in the future: he would take notes.

He flipped the book open again, this time finding the chapter he knew would be most useful.

Poisonous plants. Poisonous plants. He needed to know which ones to avoid, first, if he was going to find anything good. He already knew some of them, but if he could transfer some of the visual aids and helpful signifiers, that would be useful to him.

He began to make a comprehensive list of the ones he didn't know, noting their traits and things to look out for.

Why were there so many godsdamned plants you couldn't eat?

He flipped the chapter on the ones you could.

Gods. Why were there so many plants you could eat that looked so similar to the ones you couldn't?

He was going to need a bigger sheet of paper. He flipped to the other side. And he flipped to a new page in the book.

Eldowen Flower,

He wrote, pausing again to read.

A red flower that is pleasant in appearance, but dangerous to mammalian creatures and humans. If the pollen is inhaled, the pollen carries a flesh-eating bacteria that travels to your brain, developing welts that turn into tumorous growths on the brain tissue. Welts then eventually appear on the skin. The condition is treatable but the damage is irreversible and often leaves people with permanent brain damage or phantom pains. If the growths are removed they usually grow back larger and painfully.

Fuckin' hell. Great. Stay away from red flowers. Any red flowers, for good measure.

There was a note beside it.

The eldowen flower is also known as the flower used for the Ruddlan's city crest.

Well wasn't that nice.

James had run out of room on his paper to write. He underlined the word "eldowen flower" several times and circled it for good measure, writing in tiny letters beneath it: "Eat = die." Because that was all he had space for.

He lifted up the piece of paper, looking at all of his scrawlings that gradually got more and more crowded.

Pursing his lips, he folded the paper up and stuck it in one of his many jacket pockets.

Now he was left with a tiny sliver of paper. With a sigh, he slid it closer to himself and stared down at it, deciding to draw instead.

And that, finally, caused his brain to shut up as he devoted all of his attention to drawing a horse, because horses were still difficult to draw, after all this time. Especially when he had to condense the drawing into something small to fit on the page.

“That’s a pretty good drawing,” Shane said softly. “Do you like horses?”

James felt a sting of dread upon the realization that all of his actions were being perceived, and his pencil froze mid-shading of the horse's flank.

Right. Shane was there. Shane could see his... horse. Sketch.

Why did he feel like a child getting caught doing something wrong? This was silly.

"Oh," he said, more timid than felt acceptable for this kind of social interaction. "Yes. I... I like horses. A lot."

Shane smiled faintly but genuinely. “They’re very neat animals. Were you thinking of going to the race?”

James stared at him."There's a race?" he asked dumbly. He vaguely remembered Fonzi saying something about a race, but he hadn't processed it.

Shane nodded. “Later today. Anyone who wants to participate can bring a horse to the main city gate and race a loop around the city.”

"Really?" James asked. "That sounds potentially chaotic."

“I mean.” Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “It does get that way. But I hear it’s fun.”

"You've never been, then," James concluded.

Shane shook his head. “No. I’ve never raced a horse before— I’m more of a leisurely rider, so I’m only really used to short bursts of speed— and I don't think my horse is trained for it either. I’m also not a fan of the hollering crowd, so I haven’t spectated.”

James let out a quiet, "Ah." He could understand that.

He paused, mulling over the possibility of going, and if it'd be worth the trouble. It was different, watching a horse race, and working with horses personally. The latter, he found more fulfilling. He, too, didn't have his horse here with him, so he really wouldn't bother with racing. Not that he wanted that kind of attention, at this rate, anyway. He had enough as it was.

"I'm still a bit... wary of going out in public," he admitted quietly.

Shane nodded in what looked like sympathetic understanding.

“Would it help to have one of your friends with you?” he suggested.

James knew Fonzi was already going, but he knew he really couldn't count on Fonzi to intervene if there was any real trouble. He certainly didn't last time, when push came to shove. The only person James could think of was Caspar, but he felt a little silly, thinking to ask him to go with him. Caspar had his own life. People to see, even, with a friend in town. He probably didn't want to go see a race.

James hesitated.

"Maybe," he murmured, looking down at his drawing. "I'll think on it."

“You’ve got some time,” Shane said. “It’s not for a few hours yet.”

James nodded with a hum, glancing over at the plant book he still left open, then up at Shane again.

"Do you like horses?" he asked, feeling a bit stupid while doing so.

Shane looked a little surprised to be asked, but he smiled softly again after a moment, nodding.

“Yeah,” he said. “They’re very smart. A lot of them are very sweet, too. My family has three-- my parents keep two in Lettera, and I have one here-- that I’m fond of.”

"The one here. The horse not trained for racing," James said.

Shane's smile flickered a touch wider. "That's Arden. He's my favorite."

"Do you ride him much, here?" James asked.

"Mostly when he needs exercise," Shane said. "I like walking, but if the place I'm going to has a stable, I'll probably take him instead." He chuckled. "I should do that soon, speaking of. He could be getting a little restless."

James hummed with a nod.

"I have a horse back home, too," he said. "He's being taken care of in King's Peak."

“What’s your horse’s name?” Shane asked.

"Elliot," James answered. "Arden -- what's he look like?"

“He’s a black horse with white speckles," Shane said. "My mom has a horse, Peregrine, that looks a lot like him, but my dad's horse Saffron is more golden. What about Elliot?”

"He's a golden quarter horse," James answered. "White mane. Has a pleasant stripe down his face and devious eyes."

Shane grinned faintly. "He sounds fashionable in the world of horses."

"Fashionable," James said. "And a bit too comfortable, but very, very affectionate."

"Arden's the same," Shane said. "I kind of spoil him, but-- well, he's sweet, and I like him. I spoil my cat too, so maybe this is just a weak spot of mine."

James huffed. He knew he'd spoiled Elliot a little too - and it was a source of worry for him, looking forward. Elliot had served him well enough in the war, but he didn't know how much Elliot would have to endure if they were going to be on the run. He worried that Elliot would get run into the ground, and he didn't want that to happen.

"Maybe I could meet him sometime?" James asked.

Shane was about to reply, but a librarian marched by their table. He didn’t say a word, but his fierce glare— mostly fixed on Shane— was good enough to communicate his message: shut the hell up. Shane wilted.

Sorry, Shane mouthed before ducking his head awkwardly towards his book again.

James winced. He looked at Shane apologetically, mouthing: "That was my bad."

Shane mustered a weak half smile with a wave of his hand and mouthed, “You’re fine.”

James nodded, pressing his lips together as he sighed through his nose. Shane was the one actually trying to do work, here. James was the one who couldn't stay focused or still for very long. It would be best if he left, then, so Shane wouldn't get in any more trouble and he could do what he needed to do. Right? Right. James would get out of his way, then.

He got up from his seat.

"I should probably head out," he said quietly. "If I'm going to catch any of my friends before the race starts."

“Oh,” Shane said.

There was hardly any break between that and what he followed it up with. Really, it was almost no time at all. But for that split second, it sounded like there was real disappointment in Shane’s voice.

“Well, I hope you have fun,” Shane added. “Make the most of your day. Thanks for stopping by.”

James stared at Shane.

That wasn't the reaction he was going for. He thought, if anything, Shane would be relieved. Disappointed? Did Shane actually enjoy his presence, to some degree? James had been under the impression that Shane's invitation had been extended out of some weird sense of duty or obligation. But the subtle shift in tone made James's brain trip over its own feet.

He swallowed.

"Um," he said, now feeling like he'd made an error he wasn't sure how to rectify.

He didn't move to leave. Now he just felt stuck.

“You can…” Shane averted his gaze, shifting in his seat awkwardly. Definitely disappointed, even though he seemed to be trying not to show it all. “It’s okay. I’m glad you decided you want to go.” He managed a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

James felt guilty.

This shouldn't have been something big, and he felt guilty. He pressed his lips into a line, trying not to look angry, even though he knew that's what his face was wont to do when he was nervous, and thinking.

He swallowed again, looking down at his sketch of a horse that still sat on the table.

He picked it up, plopping it down in front of Shane stiffly.

"It's yours," he said.

Shane picked it up, looking it over. His lips quirked into something more sincere for a moment.

“It‘s very nice,” he said, more gently. “Thank you.”

James didn't know if there was anything he could to make any of this feel less embarrassing or awkward. Nodding, he closed the plant book and paused once more, knowing he was probably just making this worse with every choice he made.

"You said you're going again this week?" he asked. "To the library?"

Yeah,” Shane said. “I’m sure I’ll be back sometime soon.”

"Can I... go with you again?" James asked, quieter.

Shane was quiet for a moment. But for that moment, James thought he saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I’d like that,” he said quietly. "I think it'd be nice for you to meet Arden too, if you want. He likes visitors."

James offered Shane a small smile, briefly glancing up to see the same librarian, this time giving him a death glare.

Right. Right. He should get going, now.

James bowed his head to Shane.

"Alright," he said. "Just let me know when. I'll get out now before the librarian kills me with his stare."

Shane cracked another slight but genuine smile. “Alright. Have fun at the race. Say hi to a horse for me.”

James smiled a little more in return, letting out a huff through his nose.

"Will do."

Maybe James should've stayed at home.

Finding the race hadn't been an issue. There were signs all over town, and the foot traffic of the city all spill out outside the east gate, where the militia had cleared the path outside the town with mile-marking flags on the sides of the dirt road. The race looked like it started a ways down, and citizens began to line up along the sides of the road to spectate, walking out along the matted grassy borders.

The road outside the east gate was hedged in by a forest, so there was more shade out here than the city, and in the shadows of the leafy trees, it felt a bit cooler than expected as they reached the peak of the day's heat. The sky was clear and blue, and the summer sun beat down brightly amidst all of the chatter and excitement, illuminating the inroad-made-track clearly.

James had stopped by the manor briefly after departing from the library, but when he had, no one was home.

Maybe if he'd bothered to ask the maid where everyone was, he could've tracked down someone to accompany him. But he hadn't bothered, and instead he made his way out to the race alone, deciding to test the fates - or really, his luck - and see if he could manage a few hours alone without much bother.

The morning before he'd managed to sneak about the city with minimal interruption.

It'd helped, of course, that he'd strategically hit the low-traffic areas and gone out at an absurdly early hour. The way back, he just kept his head down and walked fast, which seemed to be good enough of a non-verbal cue that no one bothered talking to him.

He had gotten plenty of stares, though.

He always got stares. More so, now, it seemed, with his still-healing black eye that practically marked him, with how quickly the town gossiped.

Now that he was outside the city, among the crowds of people, he wished he'd taken Shane's advice and worn something less...

Oh, he didn't know.

A hat, maybe. Hell, even a mask.

He caught far too many people staring at him with recognition for his liking, and frankly, having no other human buffer with him to make him look occupied was making him nervous. It was like being naked in public. He'd been standing at the fringes of the crowd, waiting for this race to start for a mere two minutes before he already felt fed up, ready to just go home.

But that was when two women approached.

"Oh my gods, are you Tiberius?" one of them asked excitedly with a brightened expression.

She was probably in her 30's. She had a baby in her arms. Probably no older than 6 months. James offered a faint, polite smile.

"Ah," he said. "Yes. Tiberius Hemming. And your name?"

"I knew it!" the other woman said with quiet giggle, then shyly slapped her palm over her lips with bashful embarrassment. "Sorry. We are just so excited to meet you."

"My name is Freya," the woman holding the baby said with a smile. "This is my sister, Mina. And this little joy is Forrest." She lifted her baby higher, babbling, "Say hi, Forrest! You're meeting Tiberius Hemming!"

James offered a more sincere smile to the baby, who was, admittedly, very cute.

"Are you here for the race? Will you be racing?" Freya asked.

James huffed through his nose. "Oh, no," he said. "I won't be racing. Just watching, today."

"Oh, really? Aw..." Mina said with slight disappointment.

"But you must be really good at horse racing, right?" Freya asked. "All members of the King's Hand are. Right?"

"I didn't bring my horse with me to Ruddlan," James used as an excuse and reasonable defense. He shrugged innocently.

Freya and Mina exchanged a glance before Mina blurted out, "Do you want to use ours?"

James blinked slowly, processing the offer.

"What?" he said anyway.

"That would be so great!" Freya exclaimed, bouncing her baby. "Imagine that. Tiberius Hemming riding Billy to the finish line. Wow. That would be amazing."

"I'm sorry," James said stiffly. "What? I can't take your horse. It's -- it's really not necessary. Please don't. I'm very content just watching, though your generosity is appreciate--"

"Nonsense, nonsense!" Freya cut in. "Mina, stay here with Tiberius. Tiberius..." She stared him down, then gently shoved her sleeping baby in his arms. "Hold Forrest. I'm going to go get Billy."

James hardly had a chance to refuse, because the woman practically plopped the child in his arms with no hesitation. His eyes shot open as he panicked to catch the baby, who seemed like he was used to being passed around between adults based on his lack of reaction.

The baby looked rather tired, which was a concern. Tired babies were wont to cry when abandoned by their mothers. Great. Now imagine him holding a crying baby. Just what he needed. More attention.

Gods. And of course he felt bad for the boy. This had somehow escalated much faster than James had anticipated. He needed to refuse this. He couldn't just let random people give him extravagant gifts like this solely based on his reputation. First of all, it didn't make sense, and if he were any other person, these women would never even consider it.

"Oh my gosh, Tiberius!" Mina quietly swooned, hand over her heart. Her eyes were pooled with open affection as she held her dreamy gaze on him. "Forrest loves you! You are so good with kids, wow."

James looked down at the baby in his arms. The child, admittedly, seemed comfortable, but that could just as easily be attributed to the baby's temperament and not his skill with children.

"Uh," he said, not sure how to respond to that as he looked out into the crowd, trying to spot where Freya ran off to. But he'd already lost sight of her.

"Mina, was it?" he asked.

"Yes!" she said eagerly. "Yes, that's my name. Wow, you remembered!"

Well, now he was going to have a hard time forgetting, but probably not for the reasons Mina imagined.

"Right, um," he said. "I really don't mean to refuse your generosity--"

The boy reached up and grabbed his ear, tugging on James's earlobe.

"--ow," he said, when the boy yanked on it.

"Awwwwwwh!" Mine drew out with deep affection, tilting her head and cupping her cheek. "This is so cute, oh my gosh! He's holding your ear! Aw, his parents are going to love this!"

His parents? Was Freya not the child's parent? Where were the child's parents? Now James had more questions about the safety of the child, than anything. It was possible these women were just babysitting, but, it seemed odd they'd bring a baby over and hand it to him.

For some reason this felt like a classic ploy to use a baby to get someone's guard down.

James bounced the baby for a second, moving the kid to his other shoulder and painfully prying the kid's vice grip from his ear.

"What I'm trying to say is--" he started.

But again, didn't get to finish.

"BABY MAN," a deep voice boomed from behind. "Get outta my way."

James looked over his shoulder, eyes widening as he looked up to see the same man who'd confronted him in the bar just a week ago, now, leading a dense rhino-bear through the crowd by the reigns.

Somewhat instinctively, James held the baby a bit closer and held out his arm to shepherd Mina out of the man's way as he backed up as well.

Rhino-bears. Those only lived in the wilds. What was one doing in captivity? Nevermind fitted with a bridle?

"Did you hear me, baby man?" the man asked even louder, practically yelling now. "You're in the way."

James was, in fact, not in the way. There was space to go around. James reached over and handed the child back to Mina with a quiet: "Here, take him." Fortunately, Mina quietly obliged, though more curious than anything to see the potential drama unfold.

James motioned with his arm to the clear path in front of the man, having to crane his head up a tad because of how tall he was.

But the man didn't move. Nor did his monster he'd brought to the gates of Ruddlan, aside from reaching down to nibble at the grass by its feet.

Fortunately, rhino-bears were still herbivores, despite their "bear" halves.

"Go on ahead," James said a bit more pointedly, when the man, instead of budging, merely glared down at him.

"No," the man said firmly, a quiet threat laced in the singular word.

Okay. Well. This was going to be unproductive. Did this man want another fight? Was he trying to instigate one?

The man's glare turned hostile. "Bongo does not want to go around. You must move, baby man."

James blinked, looking at the grazing rhino-bear with a flat look. Bongo. Well, that certainly was a name. James looked behind him, at the crowd of people that would also have to move.

Was this man planning on plowing through everyone for whatever desired path it wanted to tread?

The man took a step closer, puffing up his chest. "You got a problem with Bongo?" he asked threateningly.

James glanced at the creature, admittedly skeptical.

"You managed to train one?" he asked.

"If you hurt even one godsdamned hair on Bongo," he said through grit teeth, "I will end you."

"I'm not going to touch your rhino-bear," James said more placatingly. "I'm just... wondering why it's here."

"Hmph!" The man shook his head disapprovingly. "I must have knocked the smarts out of your head. Bongo is here to race, baby man."

Race.

This man was being serious, but James really wanted to believe it was a joke. The man's severe expression, however, told James he was not joking in the slightest.

"This year, it's Bongo," the man continued. "And next year, it will be Higgins."

That meant nothing to James, but sure. Whatever.

"The jurors of the race approved it?" James asked slowly.

"There you are!" a voice cut in.

Freya came through the crowd, and people parted for her as she led a young, lean black stallion up to them. The horse's head bobbed as it followed her, and the small white diamond between its eyes glinted in the midday light as the rest of the rays highlighted the horse's healthy, glossy sheen over its midnight coat.

It was saddled already, and looked like it'd been well cared for and built to race.

James found himself wondering who was originally intended to ride it, and if they had given Freya any fuss when she went to steal it away.

"Oh! Excellent." Freya smiled. "I see you have met your competitor, Hendrik."

Hendrik. James finally had a name.

Freya's smile warmed as she patted Hendrik's arm. "You think this will help your monster rights initiative, big guy?"

Hendrik stiffened and saluted her. "Yes, ma'am. This will inspire children that they, too, can be a monster rider."

"It's always nice publicity, especially before the Griffin Games," Freya agreed.

It took James a moment to put two-and-two together, but, now it was starting to make sense. This man was an advocate against animal and monster abuse, and probably had an affinity for the creatures categorized as monsters by the guild. Him bringing a rhino-bear to compete in the race was a publicity stunt.

"Humph. I hate the griffin games," Hendrik grumbled.

Freya patted his arm again. "You sure do." Reins in hand, she brightened up and then offered it to James. "Here you are. You're now officially endorsed by the race jurors," she said with a wink.

James stared at the horse's reins.

She was serious. Gods, they were all being serious. Here he was, still hoping this was all some kind of practical joke. He could just say no, couldn't he? He could refuse?

"Baby man is racing? Hah!" Hendrik bellowed out a laugh. "Looking forward to beating your ass again."

Freya put the reins in James's hands, much like she'd formerly plopped the baby in his arms without waiting for him to initiate anything. James held the reins, looking up at the horse.

Billy stared back at James a bit absently, and for a second, James held uncomfortable eye contact with the horse.

"Um..." was all he really managed to say with Mina, Freya, and Hendrik all staring at him, now suddenly given a horse to participate in a race he'd only intended to watch.

So. Now he was off to the races.

After some more taunting from Hendrik and bearing with the fawning of Mina and Freya for more minutes than he'd preferred to endure, the announcer for the race stepped up on the podium and called all competitors to the starting line. James had been given very little time with the horse he'd just been gifted, but when he lined up alongside the other racers, he hesitantly reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a sugar cube.

Perhaps James was a little too fond of horses, for always being prepared to appease them, but in this situation, it came in handy.

Subtly offering it up to the horse, Billy was eager to nibble it out of his hand, and quite quickly warmed up to him. It seemed Billy was rather easy to please.

The instructions of the race were rather simple.

It was a long track, parted into the forest, and circled around the city. It was meant to test both horse's speed, endurance, and agility - as well as the skill of the rider, being albe to guide their horse along the way. The race track narrowed as the path curved around the city, which meant there would be a fierce fight to break through to the front at the start.

James didn't really want to do this from the start, but he was already in too deep now to back out, which meant he had to commit to actually trying.

Because it didn't make sense to enter a race and not try.

He hopped into the saddle, brushing the side of Billy's neck as the announcer continued speaking to the crowd, giving the formal address before the race kicked off.

"Sorry about all of this," he murmured softly. "I think neither of us expected to be in this situation."

Billy shook his head, turning his ears to the sound of James's voice.

"You seem a good horse, though," James said. "I'd hate for you to lose a chance to shine because of me."

James leaned over, speaking just so Billy could hear. He gently patted Billy's neck again.

"We'll do our best, then, shall we?" he said softly.

To which, Billy bobbed his head in a show of anticipation.

He could see that Billy had been bred for speed, and was accustomed to racing. The horse was ready, and raring to go.

"Racers, ready your steeds!" the announcer called out over the crowd.

Any chatter that had been murmured while the announcements droned on died down as the announcer lifted up the red flag and began the count-down.

"Ready! Set!"

James leaned forward in the saddle. He could feel the tension in Billy's muscles wind up like a spring.

"Go!"

James had hardly given the cue before Billy shot forward like a bullet, neck outstretched. From the get-go, Billy darted to the front, already putting them in a good position to break out of the pack.

Hooves pounded against the dirt. Dirt flew up into the air. A familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through James, that he hadn't felt in a long time - and for once, it didn't coincide with danger.

James brought Billy forward, and the stallion rushed forward, pushing ahead of the pack, just behind the two horses in the lead.

James didn't look back. He kept his sights on the curve in the road ahead, knowing he'd have to cut ahead in the next few seconds if they were going to have a chance at placing.

The brown quarter horse ahead of them began to turn wide, and James brought Billy through the gap, threading the needle and cutting ahead. He thought he heard the rider curse, but the thought came and left as James honed his focus on the path ahead of them, as it quickly became more winding, taking them through the trees.

So this was why the jurors had to approve the riders.

An inexperienced rider would easily break a horse's legs, pushing them on a road like this, if they didn't know what they were doing. There were too many dips and raises in the road to allow for sloppy leadership.

James had a feeling, though, that Billy had ridden this road before. The horse seemed to intuitively know the turns better than James could even prepare for them, and all Billy really needed was a gentle reminder for what to do.

For the first half of the race, James kept a steady pace behind the ride in the lead. They weren't quite neck and neck, but there weren't any safe spots to cut ahead just yet.

About halfway through the race, the path intersected with another of the main Ruddlan roads. The moment it opened up, it was a fight for all of the racers to climb ahead. James ended up having to dodge out of the way as the rider behind him made a risky move to cut up an incline and jump down in front of them, nearly causing a collision as they fought to get ahead.

It was a bit of a dirty move, really, considering how poorly that could've gone if James hadn't reacted fast enough. But it also meant he'd have to take the next opportunity he could to gain his spot back in the line.

They made the circle around the other half of the city in a tense stride, nearly neck and neck as Billy slowly but steadily gained on their steep competition. As they got closer, James got a better glimpse of the rider: an older woman who only cast James a fierce glance, clearly invested in this competition.

When the path opened up again to pass, it was in the last stretch.

With only a mile left, James had a few mere seconds to pull ahead. At this point, it felt like mere chance that Billy had a burst of energy once they saw the finish line in sight. Bursting a good horse's length ahead, Billy crept up behind the lead, missing them by just a few feet as they sped past the finish line.

There was a strange sense of satisfaction that washed over James as he rode out the last of Billy's inertia, eventually slowing him to a walk.

Behind him, the crowd was cheering loudly as the announcer fought to shout over them with a speaking-trumpet to amplify his voice.

James looked back over his shoulder as the other horses finished out the race. He leaned over and patted Billy's neck, feeling the steed's coat slick with sweat as Billy breathed heavily from the exertion.

Second. They came in second.

A small smile came to James's face, and he didn't really know why. He didn't really want the attention that was about to follow, but he couldn't deny that it felt good to do well. He was still riding the adrenaline high, breathing hard himself, and it all kind of felt surreal, looking back at the crowd as horses began to slow down and riders slowly circled them back around to the finish line.

James brought Billy to a brief stop, not in a hurry to go back to the crowds yet.

He kind of just wanted to... enjoy this. He probably wouldn't get to do something like this again.

It was one of many 'lasts.'

James pet the nape of Billy's mane.

"Good job, Billy," he said softly.

The racer who'd gotten in first came up around on his left, sitting up in his saddle to look to James with a smile and a nod. James sat up straight, looking over to him.

"You put up some fierce competition, Mr. War Hero," the man said, reaching over for a handshake. "Had me fighting for my spot the whole time."

James reached over and met the man's hand with a small clap before shaking it quickly. Both of their hands were slicked with sweat. James pulled away quickly.

"Congratulations on your win," James said. "I'm just glad I got to be a part of it. It was all rather last minute, for me."

The man laughed. "Yeah, I saw that!" he said. "Freya put your name in at the last minute."

Hm.

So, it was probably for publicity. Oh well.

"Yeah," James said, a little weaker, looking down at Billy again. The horse was tired, now, but seemed happy.

He realized though, that there was a bit of a gray area here.

Had Freya given him the horse just to ride for the race? Or did she actually give him the horse to own? That hadn't been made clear.

The winner rode off with a small bow of their head as the announcer started to call the racers to gather again. James didn't feel the sense of hurry, though, that the others did. And neither did the rider beside him.

He looked over, recognizing the woman from the race who'd given him a hard time, fighting for second place. Now that they weren't in the thick of it, he got a better look at her: she was probably in her forties, but it looked like hours of sun exposure had darkened her brown skin like leather. Her long, peppered black hair looked coarse in the messy braid it was pulled back into, underneath her wide-brimmed hat.

If he had to guess, she'd worked with horses all her life from the looks of it. She was eyeing Billy, and not him.

Which James was honestly grateful for.

"You got a good horse under you," she said. "I'll give you that."

It was a bit of an underhanded compliment, but James didn't really care. James pet Billy's mane again.

"Seems so," he said. "I wasn't really planning on racing today."

"I wouldn't have known it from how you rode 'im," she said, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

James offered her a small, well-natured smile. He extended a hand.

"Tiberius Hemming," he introduced.

She shook his hand firmly.

"I know who you are," she said. "Melissa Sawyer. You put up a good race."

"You as well," James said, pulling his hand away.

"Word of advice," Melissa said. "Listen to yourself, just as much as you listen to your horse."

James stared at her for a moment, wondering if there was more to her riddle-like words that almost felt more like a warning. He glanced down at Billy again, who was looking out at the racers lining up at the start.

"Sure," he said.

But as he said so, Melissa was already riding off, not waiting for his answer.

James stared after her, not sure what to think of their interaction. With a small shake of his head, he hurried after her to join the others.

And the announcer got things rolling.

The winner went up to get his cash prize, and varied reactions from the crowd informed James that there'd been a betting pool. He overheard some conversations that told him he'd been a big name people had been rooting for, so it seemed a lot of people were disappointed that he didn't win. He was, however, surprised that he placed at all, and that was good enough for him. When he was called up to recieve his prize, however - which, he hadn't expected there to be one for the top three - he was offered the horse in the place of money.

Freya briefly implied in a quiet murmur between the two of them that he probably didn't "need it." The money, of course.

James wasn't exactly in need of another horse, but considering his options were: take the money instead, refuse a prize altogether (not a great look to the public by refusing participation in pre-established expectations), or take the horse...

He took the horse.

Except now he'd have to explain this to everyone when he got home, which he wasn't looking forward to.

As the competition wrapped up and its end was officially announced, the air cleared and bystanders that were formerly constrained to the sidelines began to filter in to the race track, eager to talk with the competitors.

That, of course, was James's cue to get out of there, because he wasn't looking to get suck in conversation for an hour with dozens of strangers.

At least, that was his plan. But he hadn't got more than a few feet in leading Billy through the crowd before he felt the same shadow from before fall over him, and he turned around to see Hendrik, with his rhino-bear, staring down at him with some strange level of seething hatred and perhaps... humiliation?

You know what. James wasn't going to read into it.

Hostile. This man was going to be labelled as hostile.

"Hmph," was all he drew out, gruffly and judgementally.

James stared up at Hendrik, not sure if he should be bracing himself for more. If he recalled, he didn't even see Hendrik at the end of the race until now.

Did that mean he'd only just caught up?

"Congratulations," Hendrik added in a hostile tone, contrasting against the pleasantries of the word.

Bongo, his rhino-bear, stood idly in the background, looking rather wearied for its... species.

"Thanks," James said stiffly, frankly too nervous to say more, lest he provoke him.

"So this is what you're doing now?" Hendrik went on. "Taking over Ruddlan, winning local horse races with horses you don't own? Hmph. Some war hero you are."

"I'll be gone in eight weeks," James offered. "If that gives you any comfort."

"Eight whole weeks?!" Hendrik scoffed, offended by the length.

James frowned slightly, pinching his brows together as he squinted up at Hendrik, whose head was backed by the afternoon sun.

"Sorry?" he offered.

But instead of answering, Hendrik turned away with Bongo, grumbling on and on about how eight weeks was so long, and that he couldn't wait to rid Ruddlan of him. James watched for a few more moments as Hendrik melded into the crowd, and eventually all James could see was the giant rhino-bear's rear sticking out above the heads of people.

Not wasting another moment, James took the opportunity to hurry up and leave.

Gunsmoke, and fire. The air was acrid, and James could feel the smoke, dirt, and sweat, caked to his skin. Every heartbeat was audible as he leaned back against the divet of earth, keeping his head low under the shelf of grass.

He was lost. It had to have been mere minutes, but it felt like hours - the time that passed since he'd last seen his troop. They'd undergone heavy fire as mages hurled firebombs into their camp, and the surprise attack left them scattered. James didn't know how, but somehow, the explosions had blocked his path back to the others. Smoke still stung his eyes as he stopped for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

He'd slain someone in pursuit of him, but for the past two minutes, he'd been alone.

Worry overtook him. Without a commanding officer, he was left to make decision for himself, but he didn't know if the way was clear. This was an unexpected attack, and though he could hear the sounds of yelling and cross-fire, they'd begun to die out, and James didn't know if that was for the better or the worse.

Pulling himself together, James forced himself to inch forward, around the bend. He lifted his head over the edge, peering over the crevice that hid him, seeing nothing but smoke-filled air.

Heavy breaths.

Hand on his side, he tried to prepare himself to jump out - run back to camp. Find the others. Get back in the fray.

But he couldn't make himself to move.

He swallowed, trying to tell himself it was just a few meters. A quick run. The smoke was a cover. The enemy couldn't see him. He'd make it through. It was just... a mile, at most. He could run a mile. A few minutes, maybe.

Why did a few minutes feel like an eternity?

James still couldn't bring himself to move. He felt frozen in place, his breath catching in his throat as the smoke stung his lungs. His eyes began to water, and he told himself it was just the smoke, but he knew it wasn't. He was letting fear win when he knew he shouldn't, and he could feel his body sink back into the crevice in a primal fetal position, begging to escape from the danger. Begging to hide from the fight.

What would Carter think? What would Ingrid say? Jack was somewhere out there, too. Hellen, fighting her way through dozens of soldiers, probably. Kirk could be under the rubble for all he knew.

They needed him. They needed him.

It didn't matter that he needed them.

Swallowing once more, James felt tears stream down his face as he shakily pulled out his dagger.

Get up. Run. Get up. Run. Get up.

He heard the sound of hurried footsteps breaking through the trees. Panic coursed through him as he whirled around to the source of the noise, drawing out his dagger to face the threat rushing towards him.

But it was Jack.

There was a split second of hesitance in his approach, just long enough to ensure that James indeed recognized him. The instant he lowered his dagger, Jack almost stumbled on his way down beside him, wide, worried eyes already assessing him. James shakily sheathed his dagger once more, trying not to meet Jack's eyes as he held his side.

He couldn't keep back the tears.

"How far are we from the others?" he asked, knowing he should get to business.

"18 meters," Jack quickly answered, voice thin as he firmly held a trembling hand over James's. "Think you can stand?"

James nodded, still holding his hand over his side.

The explosion had caught him by surprise. He'd had a chance to shield his head and face, but not the left side of him that had been facing the explosion. His arm and side were a bit...

"Okay," he said, forcing himself up to his knees.

Righting himself with him, Jack pulled James's arm around his neck and carefully hauled them both up to their feet.

"I got you," he said under his breath. His voice steadied now that he had James with him, and his hold on him felt as is he'd never let him go again. "We'll be okay, I've got you." Over and over, a soft mantra of comfort that filled the deathly silence around them.

And at the time, James couldn't help but believe him.

Leaning into Jack's support, James let Jack lead the way as they stepped back into the smoke.

It was early.

The sun was just coming up. James was going to sneak out alone again, but Caspar caught him this time, asking if he could come along. Hugo, too. It didn't really make sense to tell the man no, and the dog needed a walk anyway, so the two joined James that morning, making the walk to the park in silence.

The city felt quiet at this hour in a way it never did once it was awake. James found he preferred this - the stillness, before things got busy. He liked sitting on the park bench, watching the morning light spill over Ruddlan's high city wall, pouring over the trees and the grass with warm, yellow light.

He wished moments like this could stay.

That he didn't have to leave this. That he didn't have to face everything waiting for him back home.

He just wanted this moment, sitting with Caspar, with Hugo curled up at their feet, to go on interrupted.

But even his mind wouldn't let him have this.

Whenever he sat with Caspar, for some reason, his thoughts always came back to Jack. He didn't know if Caspar felt the same - this unreasonable pull to the person that first brought them together, and was the only reason the two of them knew each other today.

Sometimes, James found himself wondering why Caspar stuck around at all, with Jack gone.

Wouldn't it just be... easier? To leave, and move on?

Jack had been a better man than all the King's Hand had to offer. It wasn't fair that Caspar was burdened with them. With him, especially.

James looked down at his feet, where Hugo had laid his head atop his shoes, breathing softly.

"Do you think Jack would be disappointed?" James asked softly.

Brows jumping straight up, Caspar turned a surprised look his way. "Disappointed?" he softly echoed, eyes saddening. "Why?"

James drew his hands together in his lap. The morning sun crept through the shade of the tree they sat under, warming his skin.

"Who I am now," James said, softer. "I don't think he'd recognize me."

He hardly recognized himself.

A beat of heavier silence passed between them. The kind where James could tell Caspar was thinking deeply and carefully.

The older man then scooted sideways to sit a little closer. Quietly and somberly, he admitted, "You have changed. But... for what it's worth, I still recognize you."

James didn't know if that helped. He didn't know what he was expecting, either.

Maybe he was hoping Caspar would tell him what he wanted to hear. A reinforcement of what he already believed. Jack would be disappointed.

Because why wouldn't he be?

"He lost everything," James said, quieter. "Just to save one life. And I... I have the approval of the whole world, for killing many."

There was a somber pause.

"Everywhere I go, I get congratulated for the thing I regret most," he said. "And Jack isn't even remembered by anyone but his friends. It's not fair."

Taking in a slow breath, Caspar slotted his hands together as he looked down at their shoes. "It isn't," he agreed in a low murmur, brows starting to pinch together.

James felt his heart sink, and he sunk back into the bench with it.

"Sorry," James said faintly. "I know you miss him, too."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Caspar softly assured him, resting a warm hand on his shoulder. He offered a small smile, but the sorrow in his grey eyes showed through just enough to confirm that ache.

James's expression only saddened, though. He knew Caspar had to get tired of this, didn't he? Always pushing his emotions away to be there for them - him and Hellen in particular. He wished there was a way to make all of it go away. He wished he hadn't dragged Caspar into this. He didn't deserve it; the risk, and the pain James was putting him through. But it was too late to turn back now.

James fell quiet for a moment, not sure how to voice the fear that showed its face in the back of his mind, a familiar dark shadow in a different shape.

During the war, for some reason, he'd been convinced that none of his friends would die.

All of that crumbled when Jack was killed in the line of fire, and ever since the fear of losing again had a vice grip on his heart. It was the only reason he was still here. It was the only reason his friends were still here.

He'd done everything to save them, at the steepest cost.

He didn't think he could lose Caspar too.

How was he going to protect him? How was he going to ensure Caspar made it through this too?

It felt like his heart was tied up in knots in his chest - and it hurt. A palpable pain and heartache settled in, and he looked over at Caspar's hand on his shoulder, wanting to lean into it, but unsure.

He was too much. All of this was too much.

"Hey, bud," Caspar softly called.

James hadn't realized how much time had passed. He flinched a bit, quick to cast Caspar an apologetic look as he ducked his head down.

"Sorry," he murmured.

There was a mix of affection and worry in Caspar's eyes. "It pro'ly hasn't been that long," he went on, "but it feels like it's been a bit since I last asked how you're doing. So." Patting his shoulder, he lifted his other hand in an inquisitive gesture. "How are you?"

James's head sunk down a bit between his shoulders. There Caspar went again, putting James first. And there was the familiar guilt that came with it.

"I don't know," he murmured. "I'm just... waiting, I guess."

Caspar hummed his understanding. "How's your head?"

James bit his lower lip a bit. Right. He forgot about that. Missing his appointment...

"I think they're sending someone else tomorrow," he mumbled, looking down at his lap.

"Oh?"

James felt himself shrink a little more at the prompting.

"Lyall found me the other day, at the market," he said quietly. "He, um. Said he'd send their other doctor, Edith, over. I think, he, um..."

Realized that he'd lost trust with James, after showing up to the interview, still with little to no explanation.

"I haven't exactly given him an easy time," James mumbled instead.

"I'm... sure he understands," Caspar offered.

James winced. Yeah. That's what he was afraid of. People "understanding." He didn't want people seeing him like this, and feeling pity for him. He didn't want to be seen at all. If he hadn't been thrown into public fame after coming back from the war, he'd just be another wearied soldier and no one would care or see the difference.

But no. Everyone was concerned. And disappointed. Always.

"Right," he murmured faintly. "I'm sure he does."

After seeing James at his worst, Lyall probably thought James was a hopeless case. He probably wasn't wrong, either.

James would really rather not see everything Lyall decided to diagnose him with.

After another pause, Caspar quietly piped up again, "How's the, uhm... the mig-rain?"

James glanced at Caspar, his expression softening a bit at the well-meaning mispronunciation.

"Better, at the moment," he said, a little more confident this time. "It's greatly been alleviated as of the past two days. It's just a small headache, now."

Caspar quirked another quick smile, genuinely happy to hear. "That's progress."

James nodded.

"Are you... you're okay?" James asked faintly. "You said you were meeting with friends that were in town?"

"Yeah." Caspar shifted in his spot on the bench, folding his hands together again. "Yeah, very good friends I haven't seen in a while."

James turned his attention more keenly to Caspar. He realized he didn't actually know too much about Caspar's past - only bits and pieces he heard from Jack, mostly. Caspar wasn't exactly a storyteller by nature, and he usually had to be asked questions if he was going to speak about himself.

"How long was it since you saw them?"

"14 years?" Caspar glanced off as he thought. Then nodded with finality. "14. It'll be nice seeing them again."

James's brows raised slightly. "Oh, wow," he said. "That's a long time. You stayed in touch all that time?"

Caspar shrugged, a bit sheepishly. "Not the whole time," he admitted. "Kinda lost track of each other for a bit."

With a hum, James looked back out at the sunset. Now the sun was a half-crescent over the Ruddlan wall.

"Are these... friends from your time in the military?" James asked hesitantly, remembering what Jack had shared about his father. "You were a captain in the navy, right? In the isles?"

"I was," Caspar said with a nod. "But they weren't." He shifted again, leaning an elbow on his knee as he glanced out to the side. The way he usually did when a thought grabbed hold of him. "Not military," he continued, "but we met in the Isles."

James watched Caspar closely, sensing that Caspar was leading up to something.

"When we met up," Caspar started again, finally turning his attention back to James. His tone stayed conversational, but there was purpose in his eyes now. "They mentioned that they moved up north sometime. I think... it'd be worth visiting them, since." He turned his palms skyward in a shrug. "Well, you've seen my house back home, it's too small."

James narrowed his eyes slightly, not sure if he was supposed to be reading between the lines.

"Up north," he repeated. "That's a long way from the Moonlight Kingdom. A trip like that could take months."

And what with their plans for when they got back, they wouldn't have time to make a leisure visit. But Caspar knew that. Right?

Caspar dipped his head in conceding while he insisted, "Well worth it, though."

James narrowed his eyes further. A bit awkwardly, Caspar initially glanced off. But, meeting his eyes once more, he quirked both brows meaningfully.

Caspar was trying to tell him something, but he was reluctant to say it while they were out in public. Going back to the manor at this hour put them at risk of running into the others, but they could find somewhere private to have a conversation.

"You know," James said, keeping his tone level. "It might be a good idea to see how Billy's doing. You didn't get a chance to meet him yet, did you?"

And Caspar was already pushing himself to his feet. "Should get him settled, yeah," he agreed, lightly bumping his hand to James's shoulder.

Getting to his feet, James followed after Caspar, watching the back of his head curiously for a moment as he tried to piece together what the man was trying to say without saying it.

He'd met with old friends, ones he hadn't seen in years, and something about them made Caspar think that he and James needed to go north to visit them. That meant that Caspar's friends were like him; at the very least, they were mage-sympathizers, and he was still on good terms with them. It sounded like Caspar trusted them a great deal as well if he wanted to go see them, and if Caspar wanted to bring James along - which it sounded like he did - then Caspar believed these friends would not only be able to receive James but would also be able to receive their precious cargo.

He, of course, could confirm none of his hypotheses until they made it to the stables and made sure the stables were clear.

Hence, the walk back to the estates was rather agonizing, and neither Caspar nor James bothered saying anything on the way as the sun came over the wall in full, and the city started to wake.

They made it through the estate gates before running into any foot traffic, and it made it easier to make their way to the stables unnoticed. The estates were always more quiet, and things didn't pick up until around 10 am. As it stood, it was barely 6 am.

Hoping that the stable hands hadn't gotten up yet, James followed Caspar into the stables with a wary look over his shoulders. No one seemed to have taken notice of their path, nor given it any note. When they got inside, though, James began to thoroughly scour the place in silence to make sure the only beings inhabiting their space were horses.

Because at least horses couldn't spill secrets.

Caspar calmly locked the stable doors behind himself, his eyes quietly following James as he scoped every inch of each individual stall.

When James had checked the last remaining stall and the corresponding corner, he looked back across the stable where Caspar stood by the door and nodded.

"Clear," James said simply, walking back over to him.

Caspar gave a small, measured nod in response and tucked away his hands in his coat pockets. "It's far," he said, quick to simply pick up where they left off, "I know. But it's far more secure than any place I've owned."

"Speak plainly, Caspar," James said, a little sharper than intended.

"I want to," Caspar assured him, gaze and tone softening, "I do. But truthfully, I need to coordinate with my friend first. Make sure he's okay with us roping him in-- plus his family-- into something so high risk."

James clenched his jaw, straightening as he took in a deep breath. That, he could understand, but it left James in a difficult position. He didn't know enough to make an informed decision.

"Alright," James said. "So what you're saying is you want to get someone else involved. This friend of yours, whom you can tell me nothing about."

Stepping closer, Caspar set a careful hand on James's shoulder. "They have the resources to help," he explained gently. "And we're pretty short on resources right now."

James was trying to keep a level head and put a cap on his anxiety. But something about this unknown figure made him nervous.

Warmly holding him by both shoulders, Caspar asked in earnest, "Do you trust me, Tiberius?"

James felt his body go rigid.

"D'you trust me, Tiberius?" Jack softly asked, his hands on James's shoulders as he quirked a confident, lopsided grin.

James swallowed nervously, looking down the steep ledge, knowing he couldn't run and jump to make it on his own. But if they were going to finish this training course, they were going to have to work together.

He didn't like being the smaller person. Jack was going to have to throw him.

James swallowed, nervous as he looked at the gap between them, from one rocky ledge to the next. What stood between them was a ravine, with a small stream of water down below. On the other side, waiting for them to retrieve it, was the white flag tied around the tree branch.

James could make the jump back from there because there was enough room to run and make the leap down. But the rocky ledges were not level, and making the jump up and across was...

Impossible alone.

James took in a deep breath.

"Yes," he said to Jack. "I trust you."

Jack's grin brightened as he gave his shoulders an encouraging squeeze. "Then we'll both be okay," he promised him.

James kept his eyes off the ravine, this time looking up at the flag.

Right. They'd both be okay.

James's breath caught in his chest. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes, but he pushed it down as he met Caspar's gaze with certainty.

He wanted to trust Caspar. He did trust Caspar. He'd even trust Caspar with his life if it came down to it.

He was just scared.

One wrong move and all of this would end poorly for both of them. Bringing more people into that mess only meant more opportunities for people to get hurt. If they made a mistake, everyone who came alongside them would feel it, and so would everyone who ever knew them.

"I do," he said faintly, his voice unexpectedly wavering. He swallowed. "I trust you. I do."

Eyes softening impossibly more, Caspar carefully tugged him closer and enveloped him in a loose but comforting embrace. James resisted it at first, stiffening before something inside of him broke, and he slowly melted into Caspar's arms, trying not to break completely.

He wanted to hug back, but he was afraid that if he did, he wouldn't be able to keep it together. He leaned forward slightly, his head on Caspar's shoulder.

"I'm just... worried," he murmured faintly, forcing his voice to keep steady.

"I know, bud." Caspar pressed a chaste kiss to the top of his hair. "We'll be okay," he murmured in reassurance.

James felt his shoulders slump. Caspar was not helping him keep his composure.

"I won't do anything that you're not comfortable with," Caspar added.

James swallowed thickly, fighting to get his bearings. He didn't want to let his guard down. He didn't know what would happen next if he did.

"Do you really believe we can trust this person?" James asked, barely audible as his throat started to tighten.

"With everything I've got," Caspar answered wholeheartedly. "I trust them."

Of course Caspar made it hard to question. Caspar was a trusting person, but he also knew the severity of what was at stake. James knew Caspar well enough that he wouldn't answer something so important dishonestly.

He just didn't know what to do with it. The unknown.

James was quiet for a moment as he forced his anxiety down, taking in a deep breath as he closed his eyes to keep them from stinging.

"What will you tell them?" James asked quietly.

"That we've got cargo that needs safe stowing," Caspar answered. "No information that's too revealing. Just the urgency of it."

James nodded once, pressing his face into Caspar's shoulder.

"And they'd agree to that?" he asked. "With so little information?"

"Probably not right away," Caspar confessed with a quiet sigh, rubbing small circles over James's back. "They'll want to be careful too."

"And what about-- would they know it's me?" James asked even softer. "That it's me, who's involved?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Caspar assured him. "Let me worry about talking with them for now, okay?"

James wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe this would work out. He wanted them to have somewhere to go, after all was said and done: somewhere safe, not just for them, but for the things they were trying to usher out of the kingdom. They needed this, and James knew it deeply. This was what they were missing. They desperately needed someone to shelter them, and what they were about to steal.

But who would be willing to shelter him? If this person was really allied with mages, how could they even entertain the idea of being seen with James? Never mind meeting him.

He wished he could ask Caspar a million questions. He wished he could get answers.

Simply trusting was agonizing. It was going to drive him mad, but he had no other choice.

"You really...?" he said weakly, but couldn't bear to finish the question.

Damnit. If Caspar couldn't feel his rapid heart rate at this point, he probably did now. Despite it all, James was still trying to bury the panic.

"If they got to meet you?" Caspar gave him a slight squeeze before drawing away to look at him again. "I really think they'd understand. Everything."

James curled his fingers into tight fists at his sides, nodding without looking up to meet Caspar's eyes.

"Okay," he said. "If you really do believe in these people..."

He closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded.

"Talk to them," James said. "If they can reliably safeguard what we're bringing, they might be our best option yet."

With a soft, lopsided smile-- not too unlike Jack's-- Caspar gave him another quick kiss on his forehead. Which, at this point, made James's cheeks burn from a bit of embarrassment. Caspar always managed to make James feel a bit like a child again, even though he knew he probably didn't mean to. James was just glad no one was here to see Caspar's open displays of affection.

"Thank you," Caspar said, voice warm with reassurance and a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I'll get back to you with their response as soon as I can."

And much to James's dismay, all he could do now was wait.

"You seem recovered," Shane said to Alan, as they wove through the lane of bustling, lively market stalls. "I'm very glad to see you off of death's doorstep."

"Recovered, yes," Alan agreed with a huff, smiling. "Though I have to say: the nuts weren't the death of me. The cheese was."

Shane paused, raising an eyebrow in amused confusion. "What? You were allergic to two things in there?"

Alan laughed faintly. "No... just the one Though I wish I could say that was the case for both."

A surprised smile gradually spread over Shane's face as he put it together.

"You're not a cheese person?" he asked.

Alan chuckled weakly, holding both hands up with palms facing outwards. "Guilty."

"My gods, I should not have taken you to a Terran restaurant," Shane said with a laugh and a shake of his head. "Cheese and nuts are crucial to the cooking. Without them it's just... well, it's a lot of plain dough."

"No, no, it's alright," Alan quickly assured. "I should have told you at the beginning. I'm really sorry for putting you through that." He rubbed the side of his head, chuckling faintly. "I feel like I've set a terrible first two impressions on you."

"Please, it hardly seems fair to hold a nasty fall or an allergen exposure against you," Shane said with a wave of a hand. "These things happen. Hopefully--" He reached out quickly to knock on a wood pole of a tent they passed. "--today is accident-free, though." He chuckled. "Not because I'll think any less of you if something does befall you, but because you could use a break from the bad luck."

"Correction," Alan amended with a playful smile, gently poking at Shane's arm. "You could use a break from the bad luck." With a broader smile, he gestured around. "Do you see any shops that catch your eye?"

Shane glanced around again. Really, everything caught his eye-- everything seemed designed to make him look at it, making it hard for his attention to stay focused on anything for very long-- but there was one thing he looked at more closely. With a smile, he made his way towards a display that was a couple stands ahead, where a tent covered shelves of Terran pottery-- some glazed, some elaborated painted and patterned, some left in their natural earthy brown color to show off the workmanship of the potter.

"These remind me of home," he said wistfully to Alan, peering admiratively at a glazed turquoise vase. Its surface was textured with a pattern of fish scales. "I used to know a bit about Terran pottery techniques, but promptly forgot everything after moving to the Isles and staying there for a couple years. Oh well."

"These are beautiful terracotta pieces," Alan agreed with a hum, admiring the vases. "Does that mean you've created pieces yourself?"

Shane let out an amused huff. "Nothing so beautiful as these. There might be a misshapen bowl collecting dust somewhere in a house in Eagle Bell."

Alan turned back towards him with a warm smile. "I wouldn't discredit yourself. There's great beauty to be found in handcrafted, misshapen bowls."

"A different kind, perhaps," Shane relented with a smile and a shrug. "I'll never diminish the simple joy of creation that comes with amateurism. If someone had fun making it, there's value in it."

"I completely agree," Alan said enthusiastically. "The memories associated its creation make the object so much more special. Sometimes it's not about the final product that matters, but rather, the deep sentiments and thoughtfulness behind it. That's what makes everyday object priceless and special."

"Yes," Shane agreed, pointing at him and meeting his eyes with a smile. "The intentions and emotions behind a work don't have to be particularly deep for it to be appreciated, either. A kid's drawing of a bird that admittedly looks more like a winged slug can still be hung up by their family for years and years even after their talents have improved, because it'll always be a sweet thing to them."

Alan nodded, taking a side step to admire an unsymmetrical vase with an exaggerated bow on its side. The bend was large enough that it seemed unlikely to hold flowers, but it was still rather pleasant to look at as a piece of art.

"I would even say that flaws and imperfections are what bring great depth and insurmountable beauty to to art, people, and the world," he said wistfully, glancing back at Shane with a smile. "If it's perfect, I don't want it."

"That's a very nice philosophy," Shane said warmly. "I could definitely use that kind of reminder for my on life. It's not just impossible to try and make things perfect, it's exhausting, and oftentimes it turns out to not be the best thing for us anyway."

"Well." Alan smiled wider, gesturing to the vase in front of him. "That's why there are people like us. We can find beauty in handcrafted, misshapen bowls and vases. Sometimes we just need another set of eyes to provide a different perspective."

"That we do," Shane agreed. "On the other side of the coin, we can admire the talent and craftsmanship that went into this, too." He gestured at a teacup, where the design of an eagle wrapped its wings around the domed shape. "Just look at the detail on all of those individual feathers. That had to take hours of work and years of experience prior to it honing that skill."

"Oh, trust me," Alan said with a playful smile, bending down with a slight crouch to admire the teacup more closely. "I definitely know what it's like to pour your whole life into an art and then get treated as background noise. It really is refreshing to see your greater appreciation for the finer arts."

Shane raised an eyebrow, smiling down at him. "My gods, who's telling you that you make background noise? I'd like a word with them. At least, I would have a word with them, but clearly they don't have ears to hear it if they don't know how to appreciate the work you put into music."

Alan glanced up at him with an amused smile, softly chuckling as he straightened up. "You're totally right," he hummed with two nod shakes and a grin. "This earless audience needs a strongly written word. Next time, I'll bring you along as my bodyguard to protect me from them."

"Bodyguard," Shane mused, holding out his arms to look at... well, how not strong they were. "I mean, I can certainly do my best. Do you think I'll look scary enough if I just stand there with a glare and shake my fist at your critics?"

Alan pressed his lips together, holding back a laugh. "I was going to say you would sound scary since your strength is in words, but now you have my attention piqued. Care to demonstrate for me?"

"I can, but-- I think you'd laugh, and then I'd laugh, which kind of cancels out the effect of a glare," Shane said, cracking a grin.

"You're right, you're right," Alan relented, playful smile returning. "You said today would be accident-free, after all. Wouldn't want you to throw hands at someone and cause a scene." He hummed. "Then again, we're on a roll here, making our times together bizarrely memorable. You might be on to something."

Shane barked out a laugh. "Hold on, I know what you need."

Carefully, he scooped up a bowl from a shelf, holding it firmly in his hands. Then, taking care not to drop it or lose control on it in any way, he plopped it upside down over his head.

"There," he said, in the most gravely, low tone he could speak in. "I have a fearsome war helmet now. They'll be sure to leave you alone after this."

Alan grinned, keeping his thoroughly amused gaze on him, eyes flitting up to his bowl hat. With a playful glint in his eye, he turned and waved down the shopkeeper.

"Excuse me? Sir?" he called across the stand. "How much for this dashing hat?"

Shane was about to worry if the vendor was cool with his pottery being used as impromptu hats. Just as he was ready to call out an apology, though, a short and very friendly looking Letteran man poked his head around the shelf.

"Two silver!" the merchant said cheerfully. "Mannequin's not for sale, though!"

"Done!" Alan called back with a grin, walking over while rifling through his pockets for change.

Shane was expecting the joke to drop, but Alan actually handed over the coins, and the vendor marked the bowl off his inventory with a bright "Enjoy!" before slipping behind the shelves again.

Surprised, and very, very amused, Shane looked at Alan walking back, laughing.

"...Am I the new owner of this hat now?" he asked.

"You sure are," Alan said proudly. "Like I said, it the sentiments and thoughtfulness behind an object that matters most." He gestured to the bowl, still propped on top of Shane's head. "Case in point: you will now associate this bowl as a silly hat."

Shane grinned, taking it off his head ceremoniously to look down at it. He'd picked it at random, but it was a nice design, with a pale blue glaze and abstract shapes painted in teal that looked like hazy outlines of seashells.

"And as a reminder of my sacred oath to defend you while wearing it," he joked, before looking up at Alan with a sincere, grateful smile. "Thank you. It really is quite lovely."

"It's my pleasure," Alan said warmly, nudging his head towards the rest of the market. "Are you still looking around here, or do you want to see another stand?"

"Well..." Shane chuckled, scanning the shelves around them with a more assessing eye.

Maybe Kirk would like something from here? He knew his mother would. She appreciated Terran artisanship-- and if Kirk's love for Terran food was any indicator, he likely did too. The stand had leapt out to him, but he hadn't really been thinking of himself when he'd gotten excited for it.

"I was actually thinking this might be a good stand to purchase a couple of gifts at, if that's alright," he said, looking back at Alan with a smile that he knew was quickly warming. "Something for my mother-- she likes artisanally crafted items-- and for the guy I went on a really great first date with earlier this week. I'm less sure about his taste in gifts, but I have a feeling he might like something from here."

"Oh yeah? Well, ought to follow your feeling on this one. Your heart is trying to speak to you," Alan said with a fond smile. He hummed, looking over the pottery options. "Though, these definitely would be great gift options," he agreed. "Memorable, too, especially if you talked about art, pottery, or Lettera. Makes it all the more sentimental."

Shane smiled a little wider.

"You think that would make it more special?" he asked.

"Of course," Alan affirmed confidently. "It shows that you paid attention. And that's a very thoughtful way to express your affection."

Shane looked down at the bowl in his hands, a little bashfully. He figured there'd be some rambling involved in the gifting process, and he'd already set a mental reminder to dial it back, but... Well, if the effect was more positive than he assumed...

Still smiling, but a little more softly now, Shane looked back up at Alan.

"Alright," he said, trying to communicate gratefulness. "Thank you. I'll do that."

With renewed enthusiasm, Shane scanned the shelves more closely, paying attention to designs that felt right for them. His mother would probably like a tea set. Maybe Kirk would like a vase? Those were usually more impressive than a bowl, and had more artistic flair, too. But they also had fewer uses, and he didn't know if it'd seem a little random as a gift.

What if he got Kirk a vase and put flowers in it...? The thought made him smile wider all over again.

The market would be open again before the evening of the 16th. Shane made a mental note to buy flowers fresh closer to then.

"Are you buying anything-- besides silly hats-- for anyone else here?" Shane asked, glancing at Alan with a lingering smile.

"Actually... yes, it's funny you ask," Alan answered more sheepishly, tearing his gaze away from a heart-shaped cutting board to glance back at him. "It seems that our goals aren't too different after all. My family hosts a big party every year mid-festival, so I'm thinking of getting my mom something special. I love her to death, but she often endlessly stresses about the party and puts others over herself, so it would be nice to offset that with a special gift of her own."

Alan paused, admiring the cutting board again as he lost himself in thought. "Though also, my two year anniversary with my girlfriend is in four days. I have already gotten her a gift and have a whole day planned with her, but I could be swayed to purchase additional items, if I come across anything that catches my eye... We'll see."

Shane grinned warmly, watching him as he picked up a green teapot. "That's so thoughtful of you. I can tell they both mean a lot to you, and I think that's a great way to show it. They sound like lovely people-- what kind of things do they like? I'd be happy to keep an eye out for stands selling them here."

"Oh, boy." Alan chuckled through a fond smile, shaking his head. "Thank you. You are so right that they are lovely people. But you do realize that asking me what kinds of things they like will result in a long-winded speech, right?"

"Alan," Shane said with a grin, gesturing around them with his newly-acquired bowl-hat. "This place doesn't close for three hours, and I'd love to hear. Please, indulge me."

Alan grinned, relenting. "Alright, I'll take mercy on you and give you the highlights. Let's see..." His gaze drifted towards the assortments of decorated goods along the shelves, but it was clear he wasn't peering directly at them, instead absorbed in his own contemplative thoughts.

"Starting with my mom," he began. "If you ever meet her in person, her eyes would light up like stars, and she'd lean in to give you a big hug. She's quite affectionate and would also peck two chaste cheek kisses on you, simply because you're a friend of mine, and that is enough for her to pour her love. I also guarantee she'd insist you call her by her first name, Natalie.

"She has a pure, loving soul-- one I look up to and heavily admire, especially because she truly sees the best in everyone and anyone. And the passion-- oh, she spills so much passion in her music, which I'd like to think I inherited from her. Her greatest joys in life are music, family, and love. And it's quite beautiful to see."

"I was right, then," Shane said, smile growing. "She really is lovely. If I ever did get the chance, I'd be honored to meet her."

"And she'd be honored to meet you," Alan added. "Any time I invite anyone to the house, she tells them she's glad to see them, because I apparently don't invite enough people to see her." He shrugged a shoulder, smiling. "Per my mother's words."

Shane chuckled. "She's a people-person then, I take it? I'll remember that, along with the other things you shared. Like you said, a gift might be the perfect thank you for her work on planning that party."

Alan nodded. "Definitely. And yes to the people-person as well, which, actually-- Lara is too." He smiled warmly. "My girlfriend. We met two years ago during university. We sat next to each other in class and instantly hit it off. She has a gentle and kind heart, and a brilliant and sharp mind. But what I love the most about her is how considerate and thoughtful she is to absolutely everyone-- even insects, which she always frees from her home. I absolutely adore how her face brightens up when I tell her a guest is coming. She pours herself into their arrival, cooking up a storm and baking their favorite breads.

"Lara is great at remembering those kinds of details. She's the person who would never forget a birthday. I can also tell her a trivial, off-handed fact months ago, and amazingly, she'd forever remember it, surprising me with it when I least expect it. Although Lara would never admit this since she is generously humble, always wanting the best for others.

"It does make choosing gifts for her more laborious, but I like to view this more of a rewarding challenge. What do I gift someone who already has everything and knows me more than I know myself?"

Alan smiled, breaking his daze with a side glance towards Shane, gesturing to his bowl hat. "Priceless items such as these. Items that hold value because it holds special sentiments between the two of us. I love to see her pick random objects in her home, excited to share the underlying significance behind it. It is history that we create together, left behind in everyday trinkets that would otherwise be overlooked."

Shane grinned softly, enjoying hearing him talk about her. "She sounds incredible too," he said. "She also sounds like-- well, I could be wrong, but-- is she a history student, or history enthusiast? It seems like she knows the value of the past and the lessons it can teach us, as well as the importance of sentimental history to how we feel today."

Alan quirked a curious brow with pleasant surprise. "Yes, actually. Lara is studying history at university. Have you ever crossed paths with her?"

"I don't think I've had the pleasure," Shane admitted. "It was a lucky guess. Historian recognizes historian, I suppose."

Pausing, he reached for a serving platter on the shelf, then held it up along with the teapot for Alan to see. The teapot was a sage green color, with a decorative ivy vine made of ceramic intertwined around the rim, and with small daisy flowers stamped on the sides. The platter was sleek and smooth like a gloss, mostly white with black streaks that made it look like marble tile.

"What do you think of these?" he asked, smiling at Alan.

With an admirative smile, Alan held his gaze on Shane with an amused glint in his eyes. "I think you're reading my mind," he mused. "This one for Lara..." He gestured to the floral teapot, then to the platter. "This one for my mother." He hummed, looking over the two items. "It definitely matches their preferences. You have a good eye for matching personalized presents for others."

Shane grinned, holding them out for him to take. "The only drawback with them is that they don't make nearly as good hats."

"A shame," Alan agreed lightheartedly with a smile. "What about you? Does anything in particular catch your eye?"

Shane hummed softly, looking back to the teapot shelf before carefully picking up one that was a pale pastel blue, adorned with delicate textured roses, and had a matching set of dainty teacups for purchase as well.

"This one feels like it was made for my mom," he said with a smile. "She likes her tea. She's a wonderful person as well-- strong, steady, kind, and so incredibly wise. There's no one I look up to more than her." Still smiling, he turned the teapot around in his hands. "It's even in her favorite color," he marveled.

"It sounds like it's meant to be. The teapot is beautiful, too. It would be a wonderful present for her, Shane."

Shane's smile softened as he glanced at Alan gratefully, then turned back to the shelves. "I'll get it, then," he promised. "But next..."

Kirk's gift would be a little more difficult, because he had to decide based on feel without much knowledge of his particular tastes besides the context he had of him as a person.

Shane's gaze settled on a vase that had been elegantly sculpted out of Terran red onyx, where the stone had natural bands of white streaking through it. He picked it up, studying it closely. It was heavy, but not impossible to carry, and the quality of the work and the stone itself were immaculate.

"I don't know Kirk-- my date-- nearly as well as I'd like to yet, and I wish I knew a little more about what he likes, but this feels like something for him," he said, smiling wider. "He has such a calming presence, and he's somehow so sweet and so brilliant at the same time. He's kind-hearted and one of the most stable people I've had the pleasure of meeting, too, so it's almost impossible to be anxious with him. I lose track of time around him." Shane paused, grinning sheepishly. "And of the amount of words I use for him," he added, with a self-conscious chuckle.

"No, no," Alan assured with a fond and gentle smile. "I love hearing you talk about him. Kirk sounds like a special person." He gestured to the vase. "A special person deserving of a special gift."

"He is," Shane agreed, smiling down at the vase in his hands. "I might come back another day closer to when I'll meet him next and buy him some flowers to go with this. For now, though... this is good. I'm getting it."

Alan grinned. "Perfect. You'll have to let me know his reaction the next time we meet."

"Oh my gods, miramé!" Andy giggled, poking at Mireya's hips. "I know you've got the hips! Move 'em!"

"Ugh!" Mireya groaned, wiggling and swaying from side to side even more. "I am! What more do you want?"

"Nooooooo," Andy laughed again, getting up all over her space, hands on her hips so she could isolate her movements. "Move it here, move it there, and..." She grinned, brightening as Mireya swayed her hips to the rhythm of the drum. "Yeah, minka, you've got it!"

"Okay, but when do I get to use my arms?" Mireya complained, holding up her hands. "Because my hips are getting tired."

"Like this, mira, watch!"

With that, Andy pulled away, lost in the rhythm of the music as she stepped in beat, weight in each step that seamlessly transferred to her hips. With a bright grin, she twirled her wrists and swooped her arms, completely absorbed in the music. Like many others who grew up in the Isles, Andy felt music, especially while dancing. Mireya didn't quite get it, but it was always nice to see. Even if she got tired trying to imitate it.

She copied the arm movements as best as she could to the beat until her arms were tired too. Well, at least she felt more evenly tired. At the very least, Andy was still having fun, twirling and giggling while hyping her up.

That was, until Andy completely froze up even while the music pattered on. Her smile dropped, face sharpening to a glare as she focused on something behind her.

Or someone.

"Mira," Andy called urgently, snatching her hand and pulling her away from the crowd. "Let's go. Don't turn around."

"What?" Mireya asked, about to look around, but she was pulled along before she could spot who Andy was talking about.

Andy rushed through the street, dragging her along with her. "It's that annoying one-ray girl!" She glanced over her shoulder, groaning and quickening her steps. "Ugggghh, she needs to leave us alone!"

"Was she following us or just there?" Mireya asked, confused.

"I don't know, mira," Andy replied with a roll of her eyes. "She's crazy. Probably stalked me."

"Eh," Mireya said with a shrug. "Would you stalk your boss if you didn't have to work for them at that moment? She's off work."

"I know, right? She's crazy!" Andy huffed, completely misinterpreting her words.

Mireya scoffed. "Well, sure, but maybe not for this reason."

Now that they were further away, Andy threw Mireya's hand, stopping at the outskirts of Desert Sands musicians. "Then what, minka?" she challenged.

"She's crazy," Mireya said, "because she's deluded if she thinks she's gonna get anywhere in the suns with this kind of performance."

It was a little harsh, but sadly pretty true. Some people were naturals to the gang life, and Bency was not. Honestly, Mireya wasn't sure why she joined in the first place. Sure, desperation was a pull factor, but it wasn't like crime was anyone's only option in Ruddlan-- and if it wasn't your best option, it would be wisest not to dip your toes in it at all.

"Yeah!" Andy agreed eagerly, crossing her arms. "She's gonna get us in trouble, I swear. Promise me you'll stay away, mira."

"Will do," Mireya said, holding up her pinky to swear on it.

With a grin, Andy eagerly intertwined their pinkies, giggling. "This is why we're friends. Now come on, let's fucking dance."

They kept dancing, but the square kept getting more and more crowded. More people were bumping into them, often without apologizing. With annoyance, Mireya looked around to find out who these rude incomers were. And of course it was a herd of couples.

Ugh.

"Look at all these dumb lovebirds," Mireya shouted over the music to Andy. "So many heart-eyed couples dancing here. Gross."

Andy frowned and delivered a dirty look to a couple they passed, even though they passed by with a pleasant smile and nod of acknowledgment. She sighed and rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"So gross," she replied, just as irritated. Then huffed a laugh, adding, "Mira, did you know Alistair has a twin brother? We just passed him and his girl." Andy rolled her eyes again. "Both are total squares. Avoid at all costs."

Mireya squinted after them. Huh. The guy did look kinda like Alistair, if Alistair was half-blind and had a better jawline. She knew he had a twin, and he'd told her his name before, but she'd never met him and all she could remember was that his name started with an A. Who named two twins with the same first initial, seriously? So cliche.

"What's his name again? Anthony? Arnold? Aiden? Alonso? Amplitude? Aardvark?" Mireya asked.

Andy snorted, playfully poking her elbow against her side. "No!" she giggled. "But that would be funny, and also more fitting." She shrugged. "It's Alan." At the reveal of his name, Andy suspiciously squinted at Mireya, leaning in slightly. "So you have heard of him?" she asked.

"I must've, but it was probably once, because I could only remember the A in his name," Mireya said. "Alonzo wasn't too far off, if I do say so myself."

Andy hummed. "I always forget," she said innocently, shrugging again, "that you both are friends and tell each other things."

But Andy didn't forget, Mireya knew.

"And? I tell you more than him," she said with a snort. "He's too boring to gossip."

(Sorry, Alistair.)

Andy rolled her eyes, smiling. "Mira. If you find him boring, why do you even hang out with him?"

Mireya shrugged. "I don't know. He's fun to make fun of."

"Oh yeh? What do you make fun of?" Andy asked.

Mireya raised an eyebrow. "Like, everything?"

"Yeh, but what exactly, mira?" Andy asked again, laughing.

Ugh. Fuck. She did make fun of everything about him, but she didn't want to choose something and pick it apart.

A little panicked now, she scanned the crowd for any kind of feature to tease that Alistair also had. And then, as luck would have it, a very fashionless familiar man in all black passed in front of her.

"The way he shows up every-fucking-where!" she shouted.

Alistair distantly watched as Aisling dipped away from the music to check out the shop vendor, wondering if he said something that made her want to dip away. Though, then again... he didn't say anything. He was overthinking it.

He blamed the summer heat.

A hand roughly grabbed his arm and yanked him down behind a different booth. Caught off guard, he yelped out a muffled, "Hey!" as he was shoved down.

"Dude," Shay said, expression flat, "why the fuck am I here again."

Alistair pressed his lips together, staring at her. "I don't know, man," he scoffed, shoving at her shoulder. "Why are we behind a cart? Are we hiding?"

"'Cause this is a private conversation, dummy," she answered smoothly, pushing back at him. "Just ask her out already! That way I can at least say I'm officially third-wheeling."

Alistair dismally felt his face grow warm from the implication. Uncertain and nervous, he turned away, peeking over the side of the cart to make sure that Aisling wasn't eavesdropping.

Nope, still checking out the vendor, thank gods.

"I'm... ugh," was all he was able to sputter out as a response.

"And not to sound like a nagger," Shay went on behind him, tone turning quite judgemental, "but would it kill you to spruce up a bit? Like. Literally one thing. Like purple socks, or something."

Alistair sharply turned to stare at her again, devoid of emotion. "Oh, yeah," he said dully. "Next time I'll show up in hot pink. Great idea."

"You could rock that," Shay wholeheartedly agreed, quirking both brows as she shrugged her hands at him for emphasis.

"We're just..." He sighed, hating that they were having this conversation again. He couldn't even hide the embarrassment, even if he buried his face in his hand. "We're just friends. Don't make this weird," he mumbled.

"Bro." Shay patted his shoulder this time. Still not gently, but more encouragingly. "I'm not making this weird-- you are." Leaning in, she over-enunciated: "You don't need a constant buffer."

Alistair tiredly rubbed his face, feeling like the fact that they were talking about him asking out a girl way over his league while hiding behind some abandoned shopping cart was not weird. Yeah. Not weird!

"Oh, shut up," he growled. "You don't have anywhere else to be."

She snorted. "Uhm? Rude?"

Alistair sighed, deciding to ignore her. He sloppily stood up on his feet again, still rubbing his face, deciding where the hell he was supposed to take this if his lifeline was going to disappear. Because, yeah, this was obviously a date if Shay wasn't here, and--

"No, I didn't magically summon him!" Mireya's voice hollered from somewhere behind him.

Alistair flinched and took a violent step forward, whirling around.

Mireya? And...

Oh. Oh no.

"Oh, it's you," Andy said innocently with a too-sweet smile, eyeing Alistair up and down. "Didn't expect to see you here, doro."

Alistair stiffened, openly staring at his ex without being able to hide his surprise. Of course this would happen. Of course they would meet again, here and now of all places.

Doro. Yeah. Okay. He knew dora was lover, which she called frequently while they were together. Funny how one letter changed its meaning entirely to traitor.

As if he was even the traitor. But Andy always started shit like this, and he was far too tired to be angry at it.

"Hi!" Mireya said, a little too brightly. "What's, uh... what's poppin', you two?"

"Uh, this party!" Shay called back with equally forced cheer, pointing two finger guns at her.

"Totally!" Mireya agreed, pointing finger guns back at her. "Dare I say it's even, uhhhhh... bussin'?"

"Lit, if you will," Shay furthered, haltingly holding out a hand to shake.

With an empathetic nod, Mireya held out her hand too, but it was just as Shay quickly changed her mind and went for a fist bump. What resulted was Shay punching Mireya in the hand, and then wilting a little with embarrassment.

"Ow, so not slay," Mireya said with a wince, shaking out her hand.

"Gah, fuck me," Shay muttered, hiding her face in her hands. "Sorry...!"

Mireya looked like she was definitely thinking of making a at-least-ask-me-out-to-dinner-first joke and just barely keeping it in.

Okay. This was weird. This was awkward. Andy was eyeing him while Shay and Mireya were having the most cringe greeting fest ever. This was fine.

Gods, he'd rather not have Aisling come back to this.

"Okay. Well." Alistair faltered.

Have a nice day? See you later? Nice seeing you?

Instead, Alistair settled with a monotone, "I'm going to go now," turning away and calling it a day before it got any weirder.

"Awh, did we make you uncomfortable?" Andy mocked after him. "Not surprised. You always walk out since you're not strong enough to take it."

Ugh.

"Okay, hold on, I thought you wanted him to leave," Mireya interjected pacifyingly.

"I didn't say that," Andy answered sweetly. "No one's forcing him to leave. He can stay if he wants."

Alistair didn't care enough to even bother being a part of this conversation any more. He had turned away and taken maybe five steps before completely freezing. And then finding his vision completely obscured momentarily as something was lightly plopped on his head.

A... hat?

"It's a wonder ye haven't dropped dead yet from the heat," Aisling said with a hummed laugh, tugging the brim down over his face.

"Aisling," he moaned through a sputtered laugh, his hand brushing against hers as he lifted the brim over his eyes. Her freckled smile should have brought relief and warmth, but a cold panic grabbed hold of him instead. "Wait. Aisling," he repeated with incoming dread.

"Awwwh, is that who you settled with?" Andy's venomous voice said from behind, feeling her obscure glare boring through him. "Makes sense. Guess you needed to settle with someone who could take you walking out on them."

This could not be happening right now. Was this a dream? Gods, if it was, he needed to wake up from this nightmare.

Hand softly settling on Alistair's shoulder, Aisling drew her brows inward with just a second's confusion while studying Andy. Then understanding sparked in her eyes as she put the pieces together.

"Dude, come on," Shay muttered reprimandingly, stepping out protectively between them and Andy.

"Hey, really?" Mireya asked with a frustrated sigh.

This was enough. Alistair knew that if Aisling stayed here any longer, she'd have to bear the brunt of the insults. And he'd really rather not have to witness any of that.

Snatching her hand, he quickly whisked her away, hastily leading her deeper into the market. He felt her resist, and he felt bad for leaving Shay behind and not acknowledging Mireya, but he had to leave.

Andy had her faults. It was plainly obvious, and he knew that from the beginning. It was why, eventually, he did leave her. Why he didn't come back to her, like he always did.

So, in a way, she was right. Alistair was more equipped to leave anyone else he dated.

Which... wasn't a fault. Right? Right.

If Andy and the others said anything else, he didn't hear it. He just wanted to get away with Aisling. To get her out of the line of fire.

After some time of hastily weaving in and out of vendors and crowd of people with Aisling in tow, Alistair slowed down his steps, transitioning into a stroll before stopping completely at an quieter open clearing, by an alley away from the stalls. Palms slick with sweat, he let go of her hand, sighing.

"I'm sorry," he apologized softly, head over his shoulder to meet her confused gaze. He felt mildly ridiculous with the hat still perched on his head, but that wasn't important right now. "That was... I don't know. She's the bad ex I told you about." Tiredly, he deeply sighed and idly adjusted the hat. "She's always starting shit. I'm sorry. I felt like I had to get you out of there."

"Hey, no," Aisling tried assuring him. She slid a gentle hand over his shoulder as she came around to his side. "Don't be sorry for that. S'not your fault."

"No, I'm-- I'm sorry anyways," he said again, deflating with her gentleness. "Gods, Andy was so-- ugh."

He didn't even have proper words right now. Just... frustrations.

Aisling fixed an attentive, patient gaze on the side of his face as she waited for him to collect himself. Her hand stayed on his shoulder as quiet support.

Alistair took a deep breath. Yeah. He needed this.

"Is, um..." He awkwardly tilted the hat, flicking his eyes towards her, but finding it too difficult to retain eye contact. "Is this for me... or...?"

She studied him closely for another quick moment. Dammit. She knew he was trying to change the subject there. Thankfully, with another amused hum, she rested her chin on top of her hand with a nonchalant air, ready to move on with him.

"And it won't not match anythin' else you've got," she confirmed. Reaching up with her other hand, she lightly flicked the brim. "Looks good on ye."

Alistair grumbled a thanks that he realized too late was nearly incomprehensible, which only made his face flush with heat even more. "Yeah, it's..." He cleared his throat, once again adjusting the hat so it didn't sit crooked on his head. "Yeah. Maybe I'll, uh... start wearing hats now."

"You should," Aisling agreed emphatically.

"I look ridiculous," he mumbled, cheeks undoubtedly turning a deeper red with the growing embarrassment. "Don't I?"

"Nooo," she drew out with a laugh, "it's about confidence. You'll only look as absurd as you feel." Pulling him down by his shoulder, Aisling suddenly pecked him on the cheek with a chirped, "So, just don't feel absurd. Own it!"

Alistair froze, not even aware how he looked right now. Absurd, probably, for irony's sake. He couldn't even hide his cheeks flushing a deeper red, which felt warm to the touch. Which he knew because... it appeared he had, on instinct, reached up and brushed his fingertips against the spot on his cheek that Aisling kissed.

"I-- well, I don't know if I can do that," he countered, willing himself to say something-- anything-- instead of standing stiff like the dope that he was. "But I, erm... could. Be a little absurd."

To counteract his stiff posture, he lowered his hand to idly scratch the back of his neck, turning away. At something. Anything. It didn't matter.

"If you want," he finished more quietly, as casually as he could.

Chin propped on his shoulder again, Aisling's eyes searched his face. Her faint grin brightened into a radiant smile, and her eyes sparkled excitedly.

"How about," she countered, tone playful yet full of meaning, "we be a little absurd together?"

Alistair didn't think his face could get any warmer, this time, he couldn't say it was from embarrassment. He searched her shining brown eyes, her face close enough that he could count her freckles.

Or... lean in and give her a gentle kiss on her cheek, too. Dragons above, he had been wanting to do that for a long time.

"...I wouldn't mind that," he replied softly, steeling his nerves as he pushed through his next words despite his racing heart that he was sure she could hear. "And not just today, either. I'd..." He nervously glanced away, swallowing and suddenly becoming keenly aware with how close her hand was to his. "I'd like to be absurd together, officially and indefinitely."

There. There, he said it. Did he have to spell it out more? Did he really have to say, "Hey, Aisling, want to be my girlfriend? Even though I've been avoiding calling our times together dates because you're way over my league and I have no idea what you see in me? Ha ha, that'd be great!"

No. No, he was overthinking this. He had to get a hold of himself.

Drawing away, Aisling drifted her hand down his arm. She stood close in front of him as she carefully entwined her fingers between his. "I wouldn't mind that either," she answered, confident and reassuring. "Officially and indefinitely."

Alistair felt his racing heart skip a beat. He briefly closed his eyes and shuddered a deep breath as relief flooded into his chest, pooling by his heart to slow down its pace. He curled his fingers into her hand, fighting the urge to make an off-handed apology that his palms were stupidly sweaty.

For just a moment, he could appreciate being in the present with her.

"Does that mean I should be calling our planned time together as 'dates' now?" he asked faintly with a dry laugh.

Swaying their hands back and forth a little, Aisling hummed in a playful show of contemplation. "Well, if the shoe fits," she answered, stepping even closer with a softly huffed laugh.

She was so close now. Close enough to cup her face, if he so wanted.

But did he do that? Noooo...

With his free hand, Alistair plucked the hat off his head and planted it on top of Aisling's, which sat crookedly since her half-ponytail was in the way.

"The hat doesn't fit," he corrected without enthusiasm, though couldn't help but feel a rare, genuine smile tugging his lips. "Looks like we'll have to get another one."

Adjusting the hat, Aisling giggled. "Ye know someone who could help with that?"

Alistair resisted the urge to play along with her joke, instead acting dumb and lightly asking, "Who?"

"Two streets over," she said softly, her adoring gaze never leaving his, "something something, Mister Master Hatter, other clever plays-on-words, and are ye going to finally kiss me or what?"

Alistair felt his smile widen, flourishing into a grin. His face was still flushed with heat, and he felt like the two of them together, this close, out in public, with her crooken feathered hat-- well, they were absurd together. And despite all the nerves, the anxiety, and the stress... hearing Aisling invite him in, even if teasing, brought immense relief.

"Well, I was," he said casually, playing it off cool, even with the stupid flushed grin. "But you asking for it really ruins the romantic moment I was going for."

Aisling clicked her tongue in offense. "Asking never ruins the moment," she countered. "Only elevates it, if anything."

"In that case, close your eyes," he answered back, still with the plastered grin.

Both brows raised, Aisling smiled faintly with a mix of surprise and feigned long-suffering. The way she idly bounced their entwined hands between them, though, betrayed the joy she derived from this moment. Without further argument, she pressed her eyes shut and angled her chin up in anticipation.

And now that Aisling wasn't watching, he felt his grin fade, soaking in every dear detail of her face. Every grainy freckle, out-of-place hair, every wrinkle. He was close enough to absorb it all.

This was so intimate. And as his gaze dropped down to her lips, Alistair wondered why he was hesitating so much.

Because he really, truly liked her. Gods, it was embarrassing how many nights he lost sleep over her, tossing and turning because he couldn't get her out of his mind. Overthinking things together. Wondering if she ever spent time thinking about him. If she even liked him like that.

And now that he was here-- where he finally had the guts to talk about what he wanted of their future, and she had invited him in with open arms, eyes closed and expecting a kiss-- he wondered why the hell he wasn't jumping for this.

He lifted his free hand, gingerly cupping her soft cheek. His thumb just barely grazed along her laugh line, which was often accented as boldly as the crease of her brows when she was deep in a book or thoroughly pondering a problem. And gods, did he love to see her brightly smile just as much as he loved to see her cast him dull, flat looks whenever he said something stupid.

Which was more than he cared to admit. Because with someone who was insanely over his league, how could he not get nervous and accidentally say the dumbest shit when she was actually flirting with him?

Aisling was so good to him. She was good for him. And he hoped to gods that he was good for her too-- because she wasn't just anyone. She wasn't simply company to overcome his crippling loneliness, or someone who gave him reason to get out of bed and look forward to another day of sunshine.

She was actually... good. A curious, funny, whimsical, absurd, good person.

So Alistair wanted to do this right.

He leaned in slowly, craning around her face until his nose brushed against her soft cheek. And then, drawing it out, he closed his eyes and planted a gentle, delicate kiss against the hollow of her cheek.

Pulling away, Alistair opened his eyes again, affection pooling in his eyes and smile as he searched her close face. He wanted to linger here for a little while, holding her hand and cheek, wondering what the hell he did to deserve this moment.

One thing was for certain: he was going to lose even more sleep thinking about this, now.

"Not to start a fight, but is there a type of dancing that's objectively better than all the others?" Cyrin asked, scanning the plaza full of dancers.

Jordan scoffed beside him, sitting at the open bar by one of the booths on the fringest of the evening dance.

"Obviously anything from the isles," he said. "We actually know how to feel the rhythm there."

"Hey," Leilan said playfully, setting down his glass as he watched them with amusement. "Are you saying Moonlight Kingdom waltzes don't have rhythm? It's a very regular pattern of beats!"

"So regular it's predictable," Jordan said with a huff, taking another swig of his drink.

"Personally," Raj spoke up on the other side of Cyrin. "I prefer the melting pot we have here in the sands."

"I do appreciate that anyone can find something for themselves in it," Leilan agreed.

"Though the friendly rivalry between styles is amusing to see here," Cyrin said, pointing out at the plaza. "I think the Goulon and Moonlight Kingdom bands are having some kind of a playful showdown."

Leilan looked over to where they were pointing. On the opposite side of the plaza, he could see-- and distantly hear-- the two bands locked in a fierce competition to play over each other. From the sound of it, the Moonlight Kingdom strings were winning over the Goulon lutes.

"If only they could just play the same song!" Jordan said, raising his voice to the bands in the distance, clearly a little inebriated.

His words were met with more loud, discordant music.

Jordan threw his hands up in the air.

"You want to go up there and conduct them?" Cyrin teased.

"I would," Jordan said, lifting up his glass and staring into the amber drink thoughtfully. "But I am not qualified."

He took another long drink.

"Just keep throwing your arms up in exasperation with both of them and you'll be just fine," Leilan said with a chuckle.

Raj snickered, covering his mouth while Jordan sent him a glare with no heat in it.

"Ha-ha," Jordan said, looking back at Leilan. "In another life I could've been a musician. You know, before it all went to shit!"

He tapped his glass down onto the bar roughly, letting out a sigh. Jordan got a little melodramatic whenever he drank, because as far as Leilan knew, he had no musical ambitions or wistfulness for a life that could've been spent as a musician.

"Whatever," Jordan said, looking back out at the dancing crowd. "I should... dance, maybe."

"We all should," Cyrin agreed, already hopping to their feet and chugging the last of their drink. "Come on, come on, everybody up."

With a fake groan, Leilan finished his beer, standing up as well.

Raj got to his feet, and Jordan moved a bit slower, huffing as he straightened his shirt and patted down the sides of his hair. He turned to Leilan, as if to use him as a mirror.

"Do I look good?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," Leilan said amusedly, with a dramatic sweep of his hand. "All the ladies are going to be fawning over you. They're going to be consumed with wonder about who that guy in the pirate shirt is."

Jordan chuffed, but smiled a little bit, patting Leilan's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, okay," he murmured, adjusting his vest by pulling it down a bit.

Cyrin and Raj were already going ahead, eagerly moving through the crowd towards the drummers of the Isles. With a holler for them to wait up, Jordan darted after them.

Leilan chuckled, about to follow along, when he got a tap on his shoulder. Not knowing who it was, he turned around to see an old man.

No. Not an old man. He was definitely around Leilan's age, and the white shock of hair was throwing him off. It was such a strange feature--

Leilan's thoughts all screeched to a halt as he realized there was only one person this man could be.

"Sorry to bother you," Alexander Kingsman said with a small smile. "But would you let me buy you a drink?"

For the love of the fucking dragons.

Leilan refused to look back over his shoulder at his friends. They were too far ahead to help, and distracted at that. They didn't know he'd just gotten pinned by the most dangerous mage-hunter in Ruddlan for the summer, and he couldn't get their attention without drawing suspicion. He was on his own.

Gods. Was he about to die? Had he slipped up, done any kind of thing that warranted someone investigating him for being a mage? He refused to believe that this was being done out of any kind of sincere interest. Falling prey to that could get him killed.

The twice-over spy in Leilan's brain was whispering for him to play along. He knew he could, even if the thought repulsed him. If Hendrik had committed to that strategy-- although he had no idea how it was going now-- he could too. His job relied on good acting. He just had to shut down the fear and disgust that was building in his chest now.

Turning the terrified surprise in his stomach to pleasant surprise on his face, Leilan put on a smile as he made eye contact with Alexander.

"Well, I'd be quite flattered if you did," he said with a chuckle.

"Is that a yes, then?" Alexander asked.

Ugh.

"Yes, thank you," Leilan said, with a wider smile. "What's your name?"

He'd be watching his drink like a hawk. That was for certain.

Alexander inclined his head for Leilan to follow, leading Leilan right back to the bar he'd just left.

"Alexander Kingsman," he answered. "Yours?"

"Leilan Akamai," Leilan said, falling into step beside him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Alexander." It was not.

"I'm not from here," Alexander said. "Are you a Ruddlan local, perchance?"

"I've lived here for about 16 years now, so I suppose I qualify," Leilan said pleasantly. "And where are you traveling from, if I may ask?"

"Most recently, the Isles," Alexander said. "But my work takes me all over. I'm originally from the Moonlight Kingdom, though. Have you ever been?"

"That's where I hail from too, actually," Leilan said, speaking as if this similarity made him happy.

He had to take a split second to decide how honest he should be. If Alexander was investigating him, he probably knew a good deal about him already. That could include his hometown. If that was something he knew, lying about it would raise a warning flag for certain.

"I'm from this small town on the coast, I don't know if you've heard of it-- it's called Blight's Peak," he added.

"I haven't been," Alexander answered. "But I've heard of it."

Alexander slid into on of the stools at the bar, waving the bartender over and ordering two of the same drink. He ordered a 'dark and stormy.'

If this was him actually being asked out by a stranger, Leilan might've liked to have been asked what kind of drinks he liked. Because honestly, he wasn't a ginger beer fan. At least it was free and he wasn't paying to sit through this skin-crawling encounter. He sat down next to him.

"So, you've been here 16 years, huh? Do you remember much from the Moonlight Kingdom, or do you consider this home now?" he asked.

"I remember some, but Ruddlan's much more home-like by now," Leilan said, waving around them with a smile. "There's good food from all over the world. Exciting events. Handsome people from out of town. It's got it all."

He wanted to die. Sincerely die.

Alexander tilted his head to the side, his smile turning playful as he slowly blinked at Leilan, already reciprocating the flirtatious tone with the shift in his body language.

"Seems so," Alexander said as their drinks were placed in front of them. He slid his closer, dancing his fingers over the rim.

"So, a pretty stranger like you," Alexander continued. "Are you out here tonight all alone?"

That was a question he already had the answer to. He couldn't have missed Cyrin, Raj and Jordan hanging out with him.

"No, my friends went ahead," Leilan answered. "I was thinking of staying for one more drink when you approached me, actually. Funny how life works."

"Oh, yes, it truly is full of coincidences," Alexander said, taking a quick drink before turning to face Leilan more squarely. "Truthfully, though, this isn't one. But I'm happy you're a good sport and have been playing along."

Reaching over, Alexander patted Leilan's shoulder with a slightly menacing smile.

"You heard about your father, didn't you?" Alexander asked.

It was probably the last thing Leilan expected to leave Alexander's mouth. The shock and confusion that raised his eyebrows and made him frown was completely genuine.

"My... what?" he asked slowly. "My father? I... I don't actually have one of those."

"Please," Alexander said with a scoff, pulling his hand away. "I'm not talking about your parents. Everyone has a biological father."

"Yes, but--" Leilan frowned. "I've never even met him. What do you mean? Do you know him?"

Alexander shrugged.

"Well, not personally," Alexander said. "I just thought you should know what happened to him. Seemed the right thing to do, you know."

Leilan stared at him, dread sinking in his heart.

"What's the news?" he asked, a little more quietly.

"He's dead," Alexander said bluntly. "At the bottom of a lake, actually. Turns out he was a lightning mage. Can you imagine? Your own father..."

Alexander shook his head with a tsk.

"Sorry," Alexander said with a pout.

Clearly not sorry.

Leilan's head was spinning, to the point of dizziness.

He hadn't known this. He hadn't known which parent his magic came from-- hadn't even known he had magic until it'd suddenly manifested. And he certainly hadn't heard when or how his father had gotten caught.

That was what this was all about, wasn't it? Somewhere, some official record of his father's partnership with his first mother remained, and it must've come up when they'd found him. And somehow, Alexander must've followed that paper trail here, all the way to Ruddlan.

He could die here. He could be about to get murdered.

Leilan's shoulders sank.

"I really didn't know anything about him," he said, hollowly, processing. As any reasonable non-mage person would upon hearing this. "I mean, I kind of assumed he didn't need magic to be a rotten person-- he walked out on my mother while she was pregnant with me and already had two kids, and it takes a special kind of dirtbag to do that. I never knew he was a mage."

That much was true.

Leilan looked down, then back up at Alexander's face, which was dripping with false sympathy.

"Do you know what his name was?" he asked.

"Ryan Ashworth," Alexander said.

Leilan nodded faintly.

"Alright. Okay," he murmured, before blinking and shaking his head, taking a sip from his glass. "I'm not really going to mourn him. Thank you for having the sympathy to tell me, though."

"I figured as much," Alexander said, lifting up his glass and taking a sip in turn. "You don't seem the type to... well, I don't know how else to put it. But I'd wager you're not the kind to cling too tightly to the past. Hm?"

Leilan shook his head. "No, not really," he said, saying it honestly, then spoke as though he was a little disappointed. "Is this-- I'm sorry I have to ask, but is this the only reason you offered me a drink?"

Alexander shrugged, with the hint of a revealing smile.

"Oh, it wasn't the only reason," Alexander said. "It just so happened that the man I intended to give this news to was also easy on the eyes."

Leilan didn't know if that meant he wasn't getting murdered tonight, but at least he hadn't announced he'd be under arrest and dead by morning.

"Well, good," he chuckled in a relieved tone, raising his glass and clinking it with Alexander's. "We can drink to a safer world."

"Truly," Alexander said. "Safer for the both of us."

And he took a long drink. Leilan did the same, forcing himself not to grimace at the burning taste of ginger.

Leilan heard huffing and puffing behind him that he already recognized as Jordan's breaths. A heavy arm came around Leilan's shoulders and pulled him in a little too roughly, and Jordan looked between Leilan and Alexander with an empty smile.

"Heeeeeeeyyyy, Leilan," Jordan said, still tipsy, and likely remorseful of it now. "This guy, I don't know this-- this guy."

He pointed to Alexander with a sloppy point of his finger.

"Who-- is this guy bothering you, huh? Yeah? Some uh-- how old are you, anyway?" Jordan asked, squinting at Alexander.

Alexander gave Jordan a flat look, and a mild smile laced with venom.

"Younger than you, I'd wager," Alexander said, rolling his eyes down Jordan's frame. "You look like you stumbled out of a pirate's brothel."

"Oh, that's what I told him," Leilan said with a laugh, thoroughly uncomfortable as he patted Jordan's back like he was asking him to calm down. "He thinks he's so fashionable. Joel, this is Alexander. He's just getting me a drink."

"Getting you drunk?" Jordan asked a little loudly, as if he'd misheard him.

"Maybe," Leilan said, flashing Alexander a grin.

"This is a friend of yours?" Alexander asked, raising a brow at Jordan. "Seems he's bothering you more than I am."

"He's like that," Leilan said, hoping Jordan would loosen up a little. "Hey, don't you have some ladies to dance with?"

Jordan finally pulled away, patting Leilan's back. He briefly met Leilan's eyes meaningfully, like he was searching for the real answer to why he came over.

Are you okay?

Yes, and absolutely not. But Leilan didn't know how to communicate the helpless fear crawling in his chest in a look, not when Alexander's eyes were on him. He only smiled warmly at Jordan, hoping the lack of an answer was enough of an answer for him.

"You know, I did leave some pretty ladies just to come over here and make sure this random guy wasn't a creep," Jordan said. "But now that you mention it, I don't wanna lose 'em."

Jordan stood up straight.

"Get your... drink on, or whatever," Jordan said, slurring his words as he whirled around and walked off with a bit of a stagger in his step.

Alex looked on, appearing unimpressed.

"Quite the company you keep," Alex murmured before taking another sip.

"Oh, he just gets suspicious of everyone I talk to at bars," Leilan said, with a faint pout. "It's like he doesn't want me to have any fun. He interrogated the last person to death. Even asked for his mother's maiden name."

"Really?" Alexander said with a small laugh. "Sounds like he's jealous."

Leilan made a mental apology to Jordan for how he was portraying him now.

"Well, he swears he's not," he said with a grin and a shrug. "Guess we'll never know."

Alexander smiled, but the look in his eyes as he looked Leilan over wasn't comforting or flattering. It was predatory.

If Alexander didn't plan on killing Leilan now, it definitely wasn't off the table for the future.

This was the look of a man investigating a potential new hit.

"Yeah," Alexander murmured. "I guess we'll never know."

They set out early in the morning. Around the same time Lyall had when he tried making the final appointment. The eldest Ashlund sibling had mumbled and muttered mostly incoherently when pressed by the mother for why Mr. Hemming might have upped and left before it. Then eventually whipped up some explanation about Mr. Hemming's mental state, and how he most likely just forgot.

Hild knew better, though, and she knew their mother didn't fully buy it either. For Lyall had also mentioned an interview with Mr. Hemming, that he'd helped arrange for the Ruddlan Read-- and then stupidly sat in on, because the interviewer was none other than his very own lover.

Highly unprofessional. And yet, all he got in response was a fleeting look of skepticism before Mum quickly moved on with nary a second thought on it all. No long talking to late at night, no punishment with some menial task at the clinic that would suck up twenty-four hours' worth of daylight. Just. A simple, second-long look.

And now here Hild was, shadowing Dr. Bennett on her trip to the Moonlight Kingdom Manor still. Paying the price, even days after, for what her mother assumed was an oversight in a routine examination process. Which. Well, it was an oversight. But it was a highly reversable mistake, since Mr. Hemming was properly checked over by Edith afterward.

As the front doors to the manor opened wide, Hild tried her best to not appear so... sullen. Put on a friendly front for twenty minutes max, then get out.



As usual, Edith was professional and friendly in her work, pulling on medical gloves with a courteous smile. "I'll be pulling your stitches out today, Tiberius. It will be quick and painless. Could you lay down on the bed for me, please?"

Mr. Hemming, who was already seated on the bed, only vaguely nodded with his eyes half-shut.

Judging from Mr. Hemming's appearance, it looked like he was not anticipating a visit today. Perhaps there was more merit to Lyall's 'forgetful' theory than Hild first thought. Looking like he'd only just woken up, Mr. Hemming was dressed in sleep-clothes and his hair was mussed, probably from his pillow.

Mr. Hemming laid down, but took his time doing so. Edith's gentle voice filled the room, in which she told him exactly what she planned to be doing while setting up her equipment in the process.

Mr. Hemming, however, only responded in hums of agreement, not even bothering to voice words. Despite this, Edith repeatedly asked for consent before beginning the process. Only after this did they fall into a comfortable silence as she removed one stitch out at a time.

Hild had to concede... Astrid had good reason to insist all the apprenticing Ashlunds closely follow Dr. Bennett's lead. There were certain qualities needed for the trade that really couldn't be taught, and she seemed to just. Have them.

Looking away and around the room, obscured in darkness though it was, Hild scrunched her nose at the horrid storm of clashing scents that clung to every surface. Having read the notes in his medical file at the clinic, she knew that her brother had recommended aromatherapy in an attempt to ease his physical symptoms borne of his psychological distress.

They must not have worked, and were only serving to give Hild a headache now.

So she stepped back out of Mr. Hemming's room. It akin to emerging from a darkened cellar. Unpleasantly bright, despite the fact that the only windows in the corridor were at either end of it.

A woman in maid's attire appeared from the stairwell, just as Hild made to descend. Pausing by Mr. Hemming's door, Hild folded her hands together and gave a slight, polite smile in greeting.

"Oh! Ms. Ashlund, I presume?" the woman asked with a polite smile.

"Yes," Hild answered simply. "Don't pay me any mind, though. I only thought Mr. Hemming could use some space."

"A right assessment there, dearie," the maid said with a sideways glance. "Though I can't say I blame him. Terrible, terrible migraines of the awful sort. If my head was killing me that way I wouldn't be too cheery either."

Hild slowly nodded once. A chatty sort, then. Perhaps Santiago should have interviewed her instead.

"He gets them... often?" Hild tentatively asked, really for lack of anything better to say.

"Oh, all the time!" the maid answered. "Really is an odd fellow when he's got them, though."

He certainly was. Hild recalled his last visit to the Sommers' shop. With great disdain.

"Scared me right out of my boots the other day!" the maid continued. "Sneaking into the kitchen to snatch a loaf of bread! That's it! Just bread! I don't know what goes through that man's head. Really, I'm glad your clinic's got an eye on him. Though I'm not sure why they..."

The maid hesitated, looking at Hild a little more tentatively. Hild kept up a pleasant smile, but she could hear the woman's unsaid doubts.

'Why would they send incompetent little you?'

"Ah. Well. It's no matter," the maid went on, patting down her apron. "You must've been sent for a reason, no doubt. You're one of the younger siblings, yes?"

"Second eldest, actually," Hild corrected bluntly.

"Oh, my," the maid answered. "I hadn't realized Ms. Astrid had an eldest daughter! My apologies, miss."

The fake smile became... so much harder to keep plastered on.

The maid bowed her head. "I'll get out of your way, then, dear," she said. "I've got to tidy up these rooms."

Thankfully, the maid hurried off into the nearest bedroom with her broom and dust pan, leaving Hild alone in the hall.

Hild didn't linger either. She quickly made her way down the stairs without any further acknowledgements, trying to flee the way the maid's words stung, more than they had any right to.

The sitting room would have been the ideal place to wait on Edith until her work with Mr. Hemming was done. Had it been empty. And, of course, it was not.

Instead, Carter Haddon inhabited the space by sitting in the furthest cushioned chair that faced the bay window, legs crossed, and a book in his hands. He looked occupied with reading until she froze at the threshold of the space, and then his eyes curiously drifted up to her. Clearly, he couldn't have been that invested in the content, because his eyes didn't return to it.

Carter pursed his lips, slightly, looking either curious or expectant. Hild was unsure which.

She obliged anyway and evenly greeted, "Mr. Haddon," as she forced herself to take the last step from the stairwell.

"Ms. Ashlund," Carter Haddon greeted. "You've departed from the appointment early, I see."

"My presence was merely a hindrance, not a help," Hild explained, resisting the urge to sigh, "what with Mr. Hemming's poor condition."

Carter huffed through his nose, seeming more amused by the explanation than expected. He closed his book, laying it in his lap, indicating an even longer chat on the horizon. Delightful.

"I wouldn't take it personally," he said. "Tiberius is..."

Carter looked off to the side, shrugging slightly. "Not the warmest personality," was what he landed on. "Would you like to take a seat while you wait?"

She would not.

"Thank you," she said politely as she, per etiquette, took an empty space on the sofa across from him.

Carter observed her for a moment, looking thoughtful, before speaking.

"Seems my friend's sour mood is a bit contagious," Carter murmured. "Are you uninclined to conversation?"

She wouldn't give Mr. Hemming that much credit. She came like this.

"I'd rather not take your attention away from..." She tilted her head slightly to catch the title.

Carter lifted up the book for her to see the title with a slight grin. It read: Arbiters of Peace.

"It's really quite a dry read," Carter said. "So you're not interrupting anything exciting."

Hild furrowed a brow slightly. In mild offense, maybe, as she answered, "On the contrary, I found it quite the dynamic read."

Carter's brows went up, and his grin broadened a tap. "Is that so?" he asked, flipping the book over in his hands. "Can't pull a fast one on you, then. I didn't know doctors took an interest in politics."

Hild faltered for a split second. "They certainly can," she defended. "Those licensed, and in-training alike."

"Oh, I meant it as no offense!" Carter said with a smile, lifting his hands. "I'm merely surprised. Pleasantly so, is all. Do you often educate yourself on politics in your extracurricular readings?"

She sat straighter. Frankly, not fond of how she could only answer in a simple, even awkward-feeling, "Yes."

Carter nodded with a small, endeared smile, unbothered by the stiffness of her delivery.

"Perhaps I should poke your brain, then," he said. "I'd be curious to hear a different point of view these days. There aren't a lot of doctors in positions of influence, and these days, all of the people in power are a bit of an echo chamber."

He swirled is hand around, drawing a circle with his fingers.

"It's a bit tiring, really," he said.

Hild fought the urge to narrow her gaze as she studied him. Son of the mage-hunting guild masters that he was. She didn't expect dissenting opinions to be openly welcomed. Not without a catch, anyhow.

Carter let out a small sigh, this time reaching over to the coffee table in front of him, setting the book down entirely. So, now he was invested in the conversation, then. Strangely enough, so was Hild.

"It may not be the best question for a first conversation with a stranger, but I feel a bit daring," Carter said with a small smile as he leaned back into his seat, setting his hands over one knee as he turned to face her more squarely. "What's your most controversial opinion on current politics that you're willing to share?"

"You may feel daring," Hild coolly replied, folding her hands over her lap, "however, surely you realize that not everyone shares in this luxury."

"Ah, my apologies," Carter rescinded. "You are correct. I'm well aware that at any given moment, I'm one of the most priveliged people in the room. I have many luxuries my position has afforded me, especially in comparison to the average man. I won't deny it."

A beat.

"Though," Carter said with a tilt of his head and a slight smirk. "I'd say that in and of itself is an opinon. Perhaps not controversial, but an important point, no less."

At this, Hild openly frowned.

"Ground-breaking," she monotoned, "truly." Glancing at the stairwell, unsure if she even wanted Edith to appear imminently, she asked, "Well, then, man of luxury. What's the most controversial opinion your title can afford?"

Carter hummed, pursing his lips as he looked off to the side in thought. His fingers tapped against his knee as he mulled over his answer, not quick to give it.

"See," Carter said, lifting a finger. "My dilemma is: I have a title, yes? Head of the King's Hand, what have you. But I also have an unofficial title - one I have no say in - with family ties."

He tilted his head to the side, placatingly, as it seemed he was reluctant to answer in kind.

"I have a reputation," he said. "One that's quite difficult to break from. In matters of opinion, if I stray from the status quo, far more gets questioned. I'd honestly argue that you have more freedom, Ms. Hild. The ears of the world are not listening for every word you say."

"This may be so," Hild conceded without emotion. "Though I'd say 'justice' tends to get doled out far more quickly and with less mercy toward those who don't matter."

Carter hummed, tilting his chin up at he looked at her, provoked.

"Unfortunately," he said. "Though I wish it weren't so."

Hild did narrow her gaze this time. With skepticism, genuine curiosity, and the barest inkling of a suspicion as she further prompted him with her silence.

"Perhaps I was over-eager," Carter said, slightly narrowing his eyes in return. "Here I was wanting to hear your thoughts and you're tugging on mine."

"You certainly liked making such a show of your dilemma," Hild said flatly, "barring you from free speech." More pleasantly, she went on to offer, "Call it a quid pro quo? Yours first, then mine."

Carter inclinded his head. "And I have your assurance, then," he said. "That you'll honor this agreement?"

She felt herself crack the slightest grin as she merely shrugged a shoulder in answer.

"Then I guess I'll just have to trust you," Carter said with a bare smirk and a searching gaze. He folded his hands together. "Alright, then. Trusting that you'll keep what's said in confidence between us: I believe punitive punishments for genetic predispositions is immoral, and damaging our society."

Her smile faded slowly, as what she could only presume was a true underlying meaning took root in her understanding.

But why divulge something so damaging to the Haddons' and his own personal reputation to someone he didn't personally know? Of course, she didn't plan on taking this confession-- if she were to believe it true to begin with-- to anyone outside the manor. It couldn't lead to anything.

It could have just been an elaborate trick. Something to even prompt her to answer honestly in kind, only for that to be used against her.

To give no other indication of her own thoughts, Hild only repeated, more vaguely this time, "Ground-breaking."

Carter huffed, reaching up to scratch above his brow as he looked off to the side, looking disappointed. And, perhaps, even, a bit hurt. He shook his head slightly.

"Well, then," he said, a little softer. "I believe it's your turn now."

She couldn't really lie to herself. The thought to simply leave the conversation hanging here was quite tempting.

But. She was a woman of her word, and wouldn't have him thinking any less of her, and thus her upbringing, and thus her family. So, ultimately, she didn't want it to reflect poorly on her mother.

"I don't think," she slowly answered, with painstaking honesty, "having such an opinion, be it as a person of luxury or a nobody, should land you in the hot seat."

Carter had cast his gaze to the floor, perhaps resigned, like he was about to give up on her answering.

But soon after she spoke, his eyes slowly drifted up to meet hers, more searching.

Less... guarded.

"Well that's... very generous of you," he said, sitting up a little straighter.

Carter looked back down. "More than I'm usually afforded."

Glancing off, Hild fixed her gaze on the window passed him. Feeling less... put-off by everything.

But it didn't matter. She wouldn't be coming back, and their paths had no reason to cross again. Almost resigned, she flicked her eyes back to the stairwell. Now wishing Edith would help her lay to rest something that could only be so short-lived anyway.

"Mr. Hemming's appointment should be wrapping up shortly," she said, not bothering how the abruptness only served to prove Mum right.

"A shame," Carter said just as quickly, like he hadn't given the reply a second thought.

She flicked her eyes back down to his face. He flitted his eyes away. Was he... embarassed?

"I mean," Carter amended quickly. "Of course. You have your life to attend to, I'm sure, and were things to take much longer, I'd be concerned for Tiberius's well-being."

She nodded faintly, and was only able to manage an evenly echoed, "Of course," in response. The thought alone of what awaited for her return past the manor doors... She felt her attention starting to drift away from her again.

"Miss Hild," Carter said after a long lull of silence.

She blinked her attention back to Haddon. "Yes."

"Is your family the festive kind?" Haddon asked.

Brows furrowing again, she tilted her head inquisitively. "Why?"

Carter flourished a hand loosely, lightly clearing his throat as he reached to pick up his book one more.

"I'm just curious if you'll be participating in the events," he said.

Angling her head to the side, Hild looked on with ever-growing suspicion. "Why," she repeated.

Carter ducked his head between his shoulders, looking a little more sheepish at her pressing.

"...unto running into you again," he said more directly.

She blanked. For a solid fifty-three seconds.

"I might," she brought herself to answer. Feeling uncertain, but not... in a terrible way.

Carter nodded, turning his attention to the book as he opened it to where he'd left his bookmark.

"Good," Carter said. "I'll see you around, then."

For that, Hild had no proper response. Not in time before Dr. Bennett at last made her appearance.

Dearest Astrid,

How have you been doing? I miss you so much. It is not the same without you here. The boys have a good childhood here, but also, you were right: Isaac is not good for me.

He hurt me, Astrid. I did not see it until he hurt my boys. You were right, and I am so scared. Where do I go? What should I do? How do I leave?

I am so scared, Astrid. I am scared he will hurt my boys again. I don't know what to do, I just left even though I do not have much money.

I wish you were here. I should have listened to you. I am so sorry.

Please help me.

I love you.
-Natalie

"Natalie! Natalie, where are the peppers?"

Hurriedly, Natalie rubbed the tiredness from her eyes and tousled her hair. "Coming, Makena!" she peeped, hastily trotting down the hall.

But then she halted and took a step back, noticing a crooked photo of a piano sketch in the hallway. Stopping to fix it, she carefully aligned and straightened it in place rightly.

"Natalie!" Makena scolded, more impatient this time.

"Yes! Be right there," Natalie called back, quickening her steps. With an apologetic smile, she waved at the fussy kids fighting in the living room, stepping into the cozy, wallpapered kitchen to meet her lovely sister-in-law.

"Yellow or red?" Makena asked, apparently having found the peppers since she held the two peppers in hand. The brights of the peppers beautifully contrasted against the dark of her skin. "You think red might be too spicy? You said Alan's girl is coming, right?" She frowned, contemplating the red pepper as she inched it upwards. "Might be too spicy for her."

"Oh!" Natalie nodded, pulling the spare apron over her head so that she could match Makena's. "That's so nice of you to think of that." Humming, she settled against the counter and brushed off the top, brightening u. "How about we make two salsas with both peppers? That way, everyone can have what they like. Plus, you make them so delicious."

Makena muttered a few frustrations in Pelspeak, dropping both peppers on the counter. Knife in hand, she furiously chopped the pepper with quick, brisk motions. "Of course I'd listen to you and make both," she grumbled, swishing away the chopped pieces before repeating the actions with the next pepper. "Especially since the empanadas and arepas aren't done yet."

"I can help! Oh please, let me help," Natalie offered.

Makena pointed the tip of her chopping knife towards the oven. "Empanadas," she answered simply, returning her sharp focus towards preparing the salsa.

With relief, Natalie nodded and went to work, picking up where Makena left off with the stuffed pastry. The stuffing was nearly complete; all the meat ones were done, but not the cheese and vegetarian ones. Humming a pleasant tune that was stuck in her head, she repeated the relaxing action of scooping, stuffing, and folding, again and again.

"Morning, Nats," Artie's voice said from behind, disrupting her focus.

Natalie blinked, realizing she only had one more empanada to go. Distracted, she whirled around, facing her younger brother bobbing little sleeping Sofia in his arms. He seemed tired-- at least, more than usual. His curly brown hair was getting quite long now and was poking up more than usual.

"Have you seen Makena anywhere?" he asked softly.

"Oh," Natalie peeped just as soft, just now realizing that Makena must have stepped away during their silent preparations, since she was no longer in the kitchen. She shook her head, smiling sadly. "No. Sorry, she must have left a little while ago."

"That's fine." Artie glanced away from the kitchen, silent for a moment. "Be right back."

He pattered away, to which Natalie figured was to find his wife, and also maybe put down Sofia. Hurried, she set all the raw empanadas on the lined tray, evenly spacing them out. With a confident nod, she poked at the oven to ensure that it was hot enough, then slid the tray over the coals.

Phew. All done...

Brushing off the sweat against her brow, Natalie perked up in time to see Artie returning, this time without little Sofia. He leaned his hands on top of the counter, getting right to business.

"It'll be a full house. You ready for this?" he asked.

Natalie smiled and nodded, meeting him across the counter. "Yes. I'm so glad we do this every year. I love seeing everyone come together."

"Matias and Serena are coming in late. Let's set some food aside for them just in case."

Natalie deflated at the reminder. As the oldest brother, she wished Matias could have more... unity. The Alvaros always did everything together. That was what family was about.

"Good idea," she said with a small nod. Natalie hesitated, trying not to grimace as she asked, "It's Serena, isn't it?"

Artie released a deep breath, calloused hands roughly scratching the side of his neck. "Yeah..."

Natalie couldn't help but feel a little sad by the thought. In-laws were so tough sometimes... she knew.

She just really missed Matias, even if he was loud and harsh sometimes.

"Who's coming on your end?" Artie asked.

"Oh, well, let's see..." She drummed her fingers against the counter, thinking. "My boys, of course. Oh! And get this." Natalie giggled, playfully elbowing her brother, who stood even stiffer. "They're both bringing girls."

He raised a brow. "Lara, right? She and Alan have been together for a bit."

"Almost two years," she replied proudly.

"Who's Alistair bringing? The Isles girl again?"

"Nooooo." Natalie shook her head, dismissively waving her hand in front of her. "They're not together anymore, Artie."

"You talkin' about the neighbor?"

Natalie smiled wide. "Shay? Oh, yes, she's such a sweetie. Yes, her too. But also, a new girl too!" She sighed, but the exhalation turned into a blown raspberry. "Alistair didn't want to get into it with me yesterday, so I don't know anything, sadly... Just that he's bringing two others."

"Hm. Okay," Artie murmured, crossing his arms. "Who else?"

Natalie brightened up again. "The Ashlunds, of course! Astrid will be attending. Oh, I can't wait to see her again. I haven't seen her in a long time."

He stared at her, unemotive. "Didn't you see her last month...?"

"Yeah," she sighed longingly. "A long time..."

Artie shifted his weight to his other foot, uncrossing his arms. "Okay then."

"She's bringing her kids too," Natalie continued. "Lyall, definitely, because of Alan. Tove too, because of Sofia. Ah, and I think she told me Viktor wanted to come too. Oh, it will be so nice to see all of them again, don't you think?"

He nodded. "So, four guests from you and three guests from the twins? Seven total guests for you, outside of family?"

Natalie nodded eagerly. "Yes, I think so. That sounds right."

"Okay." Artie tapped his hand against the counter, peeling away. "I'll tell Makena."

Watching her brother trot away, Natalie longingly sighed, bending down to peek into the oven.

There were going to be so many guests, which was absolutely wonderful. That meant it was extra important that she cook the food with the utmost love and care.



"Alan, my dear!" Natalie greeted with a happy heart, leaning in to embrace her handsome son. It had been too long. "I'm so glad you're here. Welcome home, love."

Alan smiled and returned the hug, though leaned away after she bestowed the second smooch on his cheek. "Mom, I've only been gone a week," he said with a laugh, pulling away.

"Too long!" she sulked, brushing off his shoulder.

He was so tall, so handsome. And so talented, too. Natalie teared up every time he immersed himself in song. She thought she couldn't have been more proud of him, but every day, she found more and more reason to be so, so proud of him.

With a warm smile, he pulled in Lara by wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Oh, lovely Lara looked so beautiful today. Seeing him happy made her so happy.

"Hello, Natalie!" Lara greeted with a bright smile. "It's so good to see you!"

"Oh, darling. It's so great to see you again!" Natalie said warmly, leaning in to embrace her before delivering two pecks on her cheek. "Oh, this dress is so lovely on you. Oh my stars, you are a gorgeous girl."

Lara let out a little laugh, kissing Natalie's cheek in return as she pulled away.

"Aw, thank you," Lara said. "You look lovely as always."

Natalie placed her hand against her heart, touched. "I'm so glad you're here. Alan doesn't bring you here often. It makes me so sad."

"Mom," Alan said through a bit-back laugh. "That's not true. We're both busy with school, but we still come by every month."

"And if you wanted to come by more, even without my boy," Natalie said with a grin, brushing off dust against Lara's upper arm, "you are welcome to. You are family here."

Lara looked over to Alan with a small grin.

"Hear that?" she said, smiling wider. "I'm family."

"And soon, you'll be family by last name too!" Natalie said proudly.

"Alright. We're going to get food now," Alan said with an amused grin and a half-roll of his eyes. "Come on, Lara."

"Goodbye, Natalie!" Lara chirped.

Natalie waved them away, longingly watching Alan disappear into the kitchen. He was grown up, now. So serious with Lara, and school, and life. It only felt like a few years ago that she held him in her arms...

The two of them, of course. Alan and Alistair.

Speaking of which... Alistair was late again, wasn't he? Ah well. He always seemed to be avoiding her, but neither of her boys could escape their mother's love.

Rolling on her heels, Natalie wafted out of the busy living area and stood by the porch, waiting for her son or dear friend to arrive. The house was getting very full that even the yard had a spillage of people, with the kids running and screaming across the small lawn.

Starting on the path that cut through the lawn, Astrid stopped just short of the children bowling into her legs as they darted by. Behind her, Lyall almost bumped into her back from the abrupt stop. His younger siblings weren't so quick to react, and ran into him, though.

"My dear Natalie," Astrid called, lifting a hand and casting a full, warm smile in greeting. She crossed the lawn once the coast was clear. "I do apologize. By the looks of the place, we're running a bit late."

Natalie brightened at the sight of her dear, beautiful friend in the gorgeous lace dress. "Oh, my heavens! Astrid, you've arrived!" She quickly pattered down the cobblestone, circling around the children and meeting her half-way with an open embrace. A strong but pleasant fragrance of sweet peas and lavender enveloped her senses as she leaned in to peck two kisses on her cheek. "I'm so glad you're here, love!"

"I wouldn't be anywhere else!" Giving her a long, loving squeeze back, Astrid brushed her hands down Natalie's shoulders as she withdrew, smiling. "We brought a couple appetizers," she proudly announced.

"Oh, you're too kind! There's plenty of food. You didn't need to bring anything," Natalie said with a grateful smile, knowing that Astrid would dismiss her statements as nonsense anyhows.

And Astrid, as expected, waved a hand nonchalantly and disagreed, "Part of being courteous guests in your home. It was hardly a trouble, these are simpler dishes."

Stepping out to stand beside Astrid, her eldest son revealed two covered trays expertly balanced on one arm like a waiter. "Per my insistence that we don't over-complicate things," he added pleasantly. "Ventures into the kitchen are still fairly new territory for Mum."

Astrid shot him a flat grin at that.

"Oh, my stars! Lyall, you look so handsome today," Natalie said with a warm smile, hand over her heart. "It's been so long. It's so good to see you again!"

She wanted to lean in to give him a big hug, but the trays were regrettably in the way, so she instead opted for a hand on his shoulder as she pecked two chaste kisses against his cheeks.

"Any stretch of time without seeing you is too long," Lyall answered, grinning back.

Noise and bickering caught Natalie's attention behind him. Curious, she peeked behind Lyall to see the last two Ashlunds playing with one another with shrill laughter and shrieking. The stuffed toy Tove waved around was wildly adorable, but what truly caught her attention was the horned instrument that Viktor held while parading around, and proudly tooting.

"My, my! Do my eyes deceive me, or is little Viktor a future trumpet player?" Natalie teased.

Standing straighter with his hands folded behind his back, Viktor put on an awkward little apologetic smile. "I won't use it the whole time," he explained hastily.

Natalie crouched down with a fond grin, proudly ruffling the child's wild mane of hair. "This is a musician's household, my dear." She winked, giving him two more pats on the head. "Play to your heart's content."

"Just not in my ear!" Tove pouted.

"I did that once!" Viktor countered, throwing his hands up to the sky.

Setting her hands on their shoulders, Astrid ushered them toward the door. "We can settle the debate of who swung first inside," she chided.

"Oh yes!" Beaming, Natalie reached out to brushed down Tove's hair, patting it down before straightening herself up, standing again. "Tove, darling. Sofia is inside waiting for you." With a lingering smile, she looked over her shoulder towards the eldest son. "Lyall, could you bring the children inside? Alan is with Lara in the house, somewhere. You're welcome to stop by the kitchen, drop the food off, and take a plate of your own."

"Will do," Lyall chirped with a wink. He beckoned the little ones along with a short whistle and nod of his head. Tove rushed ahead, already calling excitedly for Sofia, and Viktor trailed behind him.

Now left alone with her dear friend, Natalie smiled warmly and offered an arm to link. "My dear Astrid," she said fervently, recognizing the faint but weary exhaustion behind her eyes, "would you like to go for a walk?"

Humming her amusement, Astrid slipped her arm around Natalie's. "A lovely proposition, my darling friend."



The walk to Midtown Park was very pleasant, considering the festivities. It was so nice to see families from all walks of life spread across the grass. There were many more people fishing than usual; perhaps to practice for upcoming the fishing contest. It was so inspiring and lovely to see the community brighten with inspiration, lighting up the sky with joy.

Arms still linked with Astrid, Natalie beamed and felt the delight spread over her chest, adoring how they could finally have a moment together. Her friend smelled quite divine, with the strong floral aromas overpowering the smell of the fresh-cut grass.

"How have you been, love?" Natalie asked cheerfully, softly nudging her side with her elbow. "You look and smell well."

"Busy," Astrid sighed, gently patting her arm. "But I'll spare you the tedium of shoptalk. How has festival week been treating you thus far?"

"Oh, absolutely wonderful!" Natalie said brightly, already longing for the memories of yesterday. "I've been going to the markets with Makena. Of course, Makena has been treating this like a normal farmer's market, buying her produce for this party. She's a very productive and efficient woman! I didn't buy much, just a small amethyst on sale, some incense, and sage.

"Ah, and I did convince Artie to go to the dance yesterday. Oh, Astrid, you should have seen him, so festive and full of life. It's like we were young and free again, dancing to the beat of the tumbao, on the beach, under the moonlight, with sand between our toes."

She sighed longingly, a dreamy sparkle in her eyes as she fondly reflected over yesterday's events. With a pat against Astrid's arm, she finished with a smile: "It was very fun, though it would have been more fun with you, of course."

"I would have loved to have seen you two," Astrid replied warmly, her smile fond. "It feels like forever ago since we last danced." She held up a hand to stop whatever next thought she knew Natalie would have and went on, "And sadly I don't think I will have the energy tonight."

Natalie couldn't help but deflate from the rejection, even though Astrid hadn't even given her the opportunity to speak. "Oh, but Astrid," she pouted anyways, "there will be music! There's always energy for one last dance!"

"I know, I know," Astrid drew out dramatically, "alas." She reached around to squeeze her in a side-hug. "It would bring me great joy to watch you dance, though."

Natalie smiled wide, a soft laugh escaping her from the affection. "I wouldn't want to do something we can't do together." She hummed as she thought through her options, lighting up when it dawned on her: "Oh, darling! We can be the music! Alan brought his violin with him, and of course, there's my piano in the house. You play alongside with me! Oh, wouldn't that be just lovely? Just like old times."

Astrid grinned a bit brighter at the idea. "Including tips?"

"Two beautiful ladies like us?" she teased, playfully elbowing her side. "Of course we'll be getting tips."

"It's been some time since I last played, too," Astrid mused. "I should be able to manage, though, with a quick refresher."

Natalie felt her eyes sparkle with excitement as she skipped in her steps, tugging her friend along with her. "Yes, of course!" she exclaimed with a bright smile. "That would be so wonderful. Oh, we'll play so much music together, Astrid. It will be such a good time, with family, friends, and harmony."

Waving her down with an endeared laugh, Astrid stumbled alongside her. "Some music, I can promise you that much," she gently corrected her. "But probably not even close to the whole night."

"Most of the night, then?" Natalie pleaded.

"Two, maybe three--"

"Hours?" Natalie cut in.

"Songs," Astrid finished, smile softening in apology.

Natalie deflated again, resting her head against her shoulder as they walked. "Can they be long songs, at least?"

Astrid tilted her head to rest against Natalie's. With a moment's pause, she answered, "We can play that by ear, love."

"Are you sure you can't stay, darling? You know it's not going to be the same without you, love."

Leaning a hip against the porch railing, Lyall quietly nursed a glass of beer, warmed by the desert heat, with his back turned to his friend's... gratuitous displays of affection and whispered honeyed words. No, he was most certainly not trying to eavesdrop. Believe him, dear reader, he was this close to stuffing cotton in his ears just to escape it all.

He stole a vaguely curious glance over his shoulder, just in time to catch Alan tenderly brushing fingertips to Lara's cheek.

"Alright. It won't be long until I see you again. Would you like me to come over tonight? I was thinking we can make the night extra special..."

Lyall turned to lean back on the railing now, averting his attention as Alan leaned in even closer to Lara to softly whisper his next words.

"You complete me, Lara. You are my everything. Loving you has been my life's greatest joy."

Lara's quiet giggles faded as their lips eventually, inevitably met.

Lyall knocked back a swig. Then another. Then was astonished to hear them still kissing by the time he completely drained the bottle. By gods, did he have to step inside to give them the whole front yard?

It took forever and a day for Alan to finally let his lady go. The gate eased closed, signaling her delayed departure.

"Bye, Lyall! Enjoy the rest of your festival day!" Lara exclaimed pleasantly with an exaggerated wave and a bright grin.

Casting a friendly grin over his shoulder, Lyall lifted his empty glass and nodded. "Have a lovely evening, Miss Lara," he answered, mustering just enough enthusiasm to match hers.

The farewall was drawn out for another decade and a half, with Lara glancing over her shoulder twice to wave again. After a literal lifetime, Alan finally peeled away from the gate, quick to lock eyes with Lyall, even across the small courtyard.

"What's wrong?" he asked with a quirk of his brow, approaching.

Lyall quirked his brows back inquisitively. "I gave you no indication that anything's wrong," he said with feigned ignorance. Because. Yes, of course Alan could tell just from a glance.

Truth be told, there was a bit of a dull throbbing brewing all about his crown. Noise-induced headaches, made worse with non-human senses.

"Yeah. You don't need to," Alan said with predictable arrogance, tapping the side of his now-empty glass beer bottle. "Already finished?"

"Hardly," Lyall scoffed, pushing off from the railing. "The evening has barely begun!"

Alan smiled in amusement, plucking the glass out of his grasp. "Well, come on, then," he beckoned, already dipping inside without waiting for a response. "You know the invite was extended to Santiago too, right? He could have came."

Tucking his empty hands in his pockets, Lyall slipped in after, hooking his toe around the door's edge to pull it closed on his way in. "Putting in another late night," he answered, voice raised to be heard over the bustling family inside. "Bigger story to publish by the end of this week, so he's on a slight time crunch."

Alvaro relatives were gathered in loose clusters throughout the sitting area. Someone's booming laugh exacerbated the tightly wound knots at either sides of Lyall's temples. He suppressed a wince.

"Again?" Looking over his shoulder, Alan pointed the beer bottle at him, effortlessly striding across the room without bumping into anyone or anything. "There's more to life than publishing." He turned back around with an emphasized shrug with both arms. "Though I should be telling you this with your job, too."

Lyall huffed in offense. "When I ask you to, then by all means." He turned sideways to slip around the crowded sofa, holding Alan's nonchalant smile between the heads with a lighter-hearted grin of his own. "But, as I recall it, I didn't ask you."

Alan cast him a flat look, dismissing him with a wave of his hand but also nudging for him to follow. Picking up a short stack of used dishes from a side table, Lyall spun on his heel to shimmy sideways through the door as he heard someone else come around the corner.

"Oh my gods, ew!" a shrill girl's voice gasped as they came to an impasse in the doorway. With a disgusted frown, the smaller Alvaro cousin looked him up and down with unwarranted disappointment and repulsion. "Why does he have to be here?"

"Now, now, Leslie," Alan called playful scorn, patting her shoulder and obviously entertained by this. "What did I tell you about hurting Lyall's ego?"

With a flat frown, Lyall lifted the dishes high over the gremlin's head as he was forced to squeeze past. Though she stubbornly remained in his way, side-stepping with him.

"Well, a very fine howdy do to you too, Miss Leslie," he opted to answer politely.

"What's the password?" she demanded. "You can pass if you answer right."

His frown deepened. "Pretty please," he tried, staring down at her with absolutely no enthusiasm.

"Wrong!" Leslie said with a devilish grin, hands on her hips.

"Aw, with that attitude, Lyall, you're never going to leave," Alan goaded with a grin, halfway across the kitchen by the stove, holding an iron kettle.

"What's the password?" she said again with fierce stubbornness.

"Vegetables," Lyall shot back. "Something you're in sore need of if you want to gain any height at all."

Leslie cackled and loudly blurted, "Wrong!" while pointing at him. "It's 'you're ugly'!"

And with that, she scuttled away, dashing through the small space between him and the doorway, disappearing into the other room and leaving only echoes of her giggles behind her.

"The little troll," Lyall muttered without any real heat behind it.

Just went to show the folly of youths, however. If the password were truly "you're ugly", then it'd ultimately have to be aimed at her.

Alan glanced over his shoulder, setting down the kettle after having poured hot water in a mug. "I think she likes you," he mused.

"Oh, was that a display of fondness?" Lyall asked in mock revelation, but couldn't help his own mildly entertained grin. "She had me fooled."

Alan tsked, shaking his head, back turned towards him again. "Well, I certainly remember you not acting nice at that age. The universe is finally giving you a taste of your own medicine for being a little punk."

"'Punk'--" Lyall gasped sharply, aghast. "It was with great discretion!" He set the dishes in the waterlogged sink and flicked water Alan's way. "And need I remind you that 87% of my tomfoolery was really your doing?"

Alan stared at him with a dead expression, unflinching from the water flick. Steamy mug in hand, he straightened his arm to wordlessly deliver it his way. "A taste of your own medicine," he echoed amicably. "Tea you gave me last year when I said I had a headache." Despite the sentiments, his expression flattened. "You're welcome."

Squaring his shoulders, Lyall graciously accepted the clay mug with a bow of his head in thanks. "I'll take it because it tastes good, and for no other reason, thank you very much."

"Oh, yes, definitely," Alan agreed, nodding. "The tea definitely doesn't taste bitter at all. So I'll definitely put these away."

Smugly, he slid the jar of sugar and honey across the counter, away from him. Just as Lyall began to reach for the sweeteners.

Dropping his hands to the counter, he stared at him with utmost dullness. "Fine," he said stubbornly, picking up his tea. "I like it bitter anyway."

"Ah, there you are!" a deep yet upbeat voice carried into the kitchen.

In walked a taller man that Lyall vaguely remembered being Alan's uncle, though he couldn't remember his name.

Alan smiled, straightening up and waving at him. "Hey, Uncle Matias. It's good to see you again."

Matias crossed the little kitchen in just three long strides. He bee-lined to assortment of leftover lentil soups, hearty rice platters topped with roasted meats, and grilled flatbreads, assessing the picked-through options. "How have you been doing? Still at it in school?"

"Yeah." Alan crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. "Last year in school." With a lingering pause, he hesitantly flicked his eyes between Lyall and his uncle, adding, "You remember Lyall, right?"

Lyall lifted his mug of tea in quiet greeting.

Matias picked out a chicken leg from the dish tray, holding it in hand without a plate. His unfocused stare turned into recognition as a smile spread across his face, nodding. "Yeah, how could I forget? Not everyday you get a doctor coming by." With a hearty laugh, he leaned over and firmly patted a meaty hand on Lyall's shoulder. "How are you doing, sport? You think you can convince Alan to be a doctor too?"

"Good luck with that," Alan replied teasingly, weakly elbowing his side.

Lyall grinned faintly. "He's not quite doctor material anyway," he said, nudging Alan back. "One needs to be made of slightly tougher stuff. Like yourself, Mister Matias."

The uncle guffawed at that, chomping into the chicken leg. He hummed through the laugh, finally picking up a plate to pile food on. "That's right. Alan, you better start lifting more weights. Doctor's orders."

"Mm... hm," Alan simply hummed back without any enthusiasm.

Lyall huffed, openly and shamelessly amused in turn.

"Do you know where the beer's at, by the way?" Matias asked.

"Outside, I think," Alan answered. "Last I saw, Uncle Artie was guarding it."

Matias laughed again, piling one last leg on his plated chicken mountain. "Perfect. Just where I'd expect him to be." With a crooked smile, he turned away, waving over his shoulder. "See you boys later, 'kay? We'll talk more soon."

Alan relaxed his posture after the door closed, craning his neck backwards in defeat. "I feel like he's already been drinking," he mumbled. "Oh well."

Shoulders drooping a bit, Lyall offered a gentler elbow nudge to Alan's arm. "What, you haven't?" he prompted breezily. "You've got some catching up to do."

"Drink your damn tea," Alan growled, pushing himself off the counter. "Come on. If my uncle just arrived, it means my other cousins are here. Let's go say hi."

"Drink a fucking beer," Lyall countered, pattering close at his heels. He demonstratively wiggled his own shoulders and added, "Loosen up a bit."

"Ugh. Fine."

Relenting, Alan took a sharp step backwards, opening the creaking pantry door. Without needing to glance inside, he crouched down and pulled a brown beer bottle from the lowest shelf. Back on his feet, Alan closed the door with his hip, pointing the tip of the bottle towards him.

"I'm only drinking this because an aggravating doctor is telling me to," he said dully, resuming in his steps.

"Doctor-approved for your kidneys," Lyall said brightly.

"And by the way," Alan added on over his shoulder, leading him into the next room, "you've got your numbers mixed up. I was only responsible for 13% of your tomfoolery."

"Lies," Lyall declared in great offense, "slander! Deceit!"

"Dramatic!" Alan added, cutting in.

"My math is flawless," Lyall asserted stubbornly, "do not question it."

"Sure it is," he replied, leaving it at that.

Lyall briefly contemplated the back of his friend's head. "I didn't mean that, by the way," he offered, pureposely leaving "that" vague.

"No need to be so humble, Lyall," Alan muttered distractedly. "I know you're good at math."

Too vague, apparently.

"No, I meant--" Deftly setting his tea aside on the counter, he quickly slid past Alan and grasped either side of the next doorway, blocking him in last second. "You'd make great doctor material, actually," he amended.

Alan stumbled to a stop, openly staring at Lyall until he blinked and narrowed his eyes at him. "Thanks?" he said uncertainly. "Not that it matters, because I don't want to be one." He firmly poked his chest. "That's your dream, not mine."

Lyall refrained from gripping the doorway any tighter. "Which warrants respect," he said, stubborn even as he quieted his voice a bit, "just as much as wanting a medical profession should."

Alan crossed his arms, patience already wearing thin. "I know." He paused, pointing a hand past Lyall. "Now can you move, please?"

Letting his hands drop to his sides, Lyall let his own impatience show in the hard set of his jaw. He silently pivoted on his heel, though, and moodily swept an arm out to the next room for Alan to pass.

"Don't overthink it, by the way," Alan commented as he gladly sauntered past, waving his hand to signal for him to follow.

Famous last words of a pathological under-thinker. Lyall bit back the retort as he begrudgingly fell back into step behind him.

Alan made his way into the dining area, which was scattered with a few folks and even more plates, which he began stacking evenly. "My mom told me she fought with my uncle a lot when they were younger. He thinks music is a waste of time, and she doesn't." Alan weakly shrugged, piling the silverware on top of a plate. "So, don't overthink it. He thinks I'm wasting my time too. Of course he'd rather want me to be a doctor. Or really any type of trade, like masonry."

Lyall drifted along the opposite side of the table, gathering the used mugs and stemware.

But he wasn't overthinking it this time. He was merely reading between the lines. Between the imbalance of the silence to speaking ratios with his uncle and all the subtle ways Alan seemed to deflate after Mister Matias walked away-- every single time-- the fine print read, this bothered Alan way more than he'd ever willingly let on.

"Trust me," Lyall said, taking on a more teasing tone now, "he may not realize it now, but he does not want you following him into masonry." He pointed the fistful of empty glasses at Alan. "I mean... Has he seen you lately?"

Alan stopped in his tracks to frown and loudly scoff in offense, dropping the plates on the table. "What is that supposed to mean?" he barked.

Well, that was far too easy.

Not bothering to suppress a smug grin, Lyall set down the glasses and reached across the table to snatch up one of Alan's hands.

"You've not the physical constitution for it," he went on with a hint of haughtiness to his tone. He gave his hand a shake of emphasis. "Look how soft and delicate these are! You wouldn't last more than a day on his crew."

"Oh, shut up," Alan sneered, abruptly pulling away with a deep frown. "They are not that soft." Though it did not help that he rubbed his palms together, as if seriously contemplating the validity of the statement.

Biting back a laugh, Lyall lifted his hand in surrender. "I'm just saying," he defended, tone innocent, "you have an indoor job, and it really shows."

"Now, hold on--"

Suddenly an arm was wrapped around Lyall's shoulders, bringing him in. "Yoooo, look who it is!" a voice said beside him, bumping a fist against his shoulder. "What's up, my good man?"

Thoroughly startled, Lyall couldn't help but splutter at first. "Kindly unhand me, sir--" He flailed his arms in an attempt to dislodge audacious mister Tomas.

"Whatcha think, cuz?" the Alvaro cousin said with a grin, nudging his head towards Alan.

And of course, Alan only leaned forward to offer his own fist as a greeting, which Tomas gladly bumped back.

"Hey, man," Alan greeted, not glancing at Lyall once. "Good to see you again."

Tomas nodded, clenching his grip around Lyall. "Yeah, it's been forever. What's up with that?"

The nerve--

With a loud huff, Lyall let gravity pull him from Tomas's grasp and straight down to the floor. The glasses clattered from his hand when he landed with a quiet and very dignified "oof!" Some of them rolled under, much to his dismay.

"Dude, you okay?" Tomas asked, badly repressing a laugh.

"Quite fine!" Lyall quickly shot back, voice nearly cracking. He rolled to his knees, resigned to pick up the mess Tomas helped worsen.

"Oh, yeah, he'll be fine," Alan agreed. "Just being dramatic, as usual."

"I am not," Lyall retorted, crawling under the table.

"I amend: he's being a drama queen, as per usual," Alan said back, crouching down to flash him a smug grin.

Lyall only muttered incoherently under his breath, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Ya'll are funny," Tomas snorted. "D'you need any help down there, or..."

"No, no!" Lyall hastily waved him off, then gathered the glasses. "We've got it quite settled, thank you. Be on your merry way."

Then paused, inwardly groaning at the evidence of Tove and young Miss Sofia taking tea and art-time beneath the tablecloth sometime earlier. Little cups and toys were strewn about between the chair legs, and looking up revealed they'd taken to practicing chapel art on the underside of the table as well.

"Serves you right," Alan muttered, crawling further under the table. He recognized the mess but didn't comment on it, instead opting to pick up the toys one-by-one.

"You fucking punk," Lyall half-heartedly growled back as he stacked the girls' teacups.

"Oh, I'm the punk?"

"That's right, Alan." Lyall shot him a pleasant grin. "You are."

Not a second later, and Alan threw a teddy bear at his face. Lyall sputtered, then cast him an utterly appalled look.

"Real mature!" he groused.

"You insulted me first," Alan said defensively, pointing a stick of chalk at him. "Why are you so damn grouchy all the time?"

"I am not," Lyall firmly asserted. He jabbed the miniature ceramics his way. "Why are you so damn cotton-headed all the time?"

Annoyed, Alan swatted away the cup and poked his chest with the chalk to emphasize his syllables. "De-flec-ting. Again."

Lyall smacked the stick out of his fragile little artist's hand. "You're one to talk. I don't think I've gotten a straight answer out of you all evening."

"That's because you're so damn grouchy!" Alan sputtered in offense-- once again offering a vague explanation, thus only proving him right.

Irritated, Alan picked up another broken chalk stick, waving it in the air for extra emphasis. "You've especially been in a sour mood since Lara left. Honestly, you always seem to be in a sour mood whenever she's around. And now you're always in a sour mood with me." He leaned in, huffy and all worked up. "What is it? Because there has to be something going on..." Relentless, Alan poked the chalk against his forehead, finishing, "...in that big, dull, vacuous brain of yours."

Appalled at his incessant poking, Lyall snatched the chalk out of Alan's grip this time. "I'll have you know my brain is full of liveliness and thoughts!" he harshly whispered back.

"Shut the hell up and tell me the truth," Alan growled, resorting to throwing broken chalk pieces at him now.

"Fine! The truth is, Miss Lara is perfectly lovely," Lyall snarled in answer, unable to retaliate since his hands were filled with breakables, "and I've had a migraine-level headache since an hour ago. What more do you want from me?"

"Well then, why didn't you tell me?!" Alan whispered loudly.

"Because you just fucking knew!" Lyall spat, jabbing the tiny teacups at Alan's chest. "Like you always fucking do."

Alan groaned, frustratedly rubbing his face. "Fine. Whatever," he moaned, turning away to frantically stack the spread objects with nary a thought to organization or method whatsoever-- as per fucking usual.

"You're doing it wrong," Lyall said flatly as he watched.

"Shut the fuck up and let me clean," Alan snapped.

"You're going to drop everything!"

Shifting the cups to one arm, he reached to steal from Alan's load with his freed hand, but was predictably slapped away. And with quite force, too.

"Fucker--!" Lyall shook out the sting with a hiss. "Fuck you!"

"I fucking warned you!" Alan groaned, throwing his hands in the air and inadvertently bumping his head against the top of the table. And, predictably, causing everything in his grasp to clatter against the floor.

Settling back on his haunches, Lyall let out a long, long, wearied sigh. "I told you."

Alan smacked his hand against his face, moaning, "This is your fault."

Lips pressed into a hard, unappreciative line, Lyall silently set about to helping clean up Alan's mess now.

He wasn't sure why Alan was so bothered about Lyall being bothered by Lara-- because Lyall was not bothered by Lara to begin with. So it was entirely unwarranted. Libel, even.

She was a perfectly fine young woman. She adored Alan, supported his work, and got along well with his family. On paper, she was the perfect partner. And so was Alan, who did all the same for her. They were so... fucking perfect.

And no one was that fucking perfect. So, yes, maybe Lyall was bothered by Lara. But not by her as a person. He was bothered by what the two as a couple refused to be forthcoming about. Because Alan and Lyall had been honest about everything when they were younger, especially whenever it was just the two of them.

Here they were, fighting like children under the dinner table. But, honestly? Lyall wished they were children again. If only to finally get some honest responses out of Alan once more. Ever since they hit their early teens, it felt like Lyall was locked out of his life, to some unnameable extent. And that distance? it only worsened now with even bigger life changes on the horizon.

But maybe that just came with engagement-- with time in general. Friends just got less of each other as they gave more to their careers and their partners. And maybe it was something Lyall just needed to come to terms with.

Maybe that was what bothered Lyall.

Keeping an even expression, he carefully set aside the stemware and swept up the chalk pieces into one of the girls' teacups. Once filled, he shoved it back at Alan, not even sparing his asshole friend another look, then grabbed the wine glasses and dropped cups on his way back out from under the table.

Then froze when he immediately came face-to-face with Alan's own brother. Alistair was leaning against the wall with a plate in hand, chewing and silently watching the ordeal.

"You good?" he asked with a muffled chuckle.

"Yup," Alan emphasized, crawling out from under the table. He stood up on his feet to immediately drop the chalk pieces on top of the table. "We're doing great."

"Uh... huh," Alistair replied skeptically.

Lyall drew in a steadying breath to keep from wilting on the spot. "We're quite well," he reaffirmed. "Just. Sorting out a few messes."

"Yeah... messes," Alistair commented.

"Did you just wake up?" Alan asked, changing the subject. He patted his palms together, shaking off the chalk dust.

Alistair glanced at the clock hung against the wall. "Bro, it's the afternoon."

"Well, did you?" Alan pressed.

His brother cast him a flat look. "No. I've been up for a few hours."

"Dude can't sleep anymore," a new voice boomed from behind them.

Lyall startled, the glasses in his arms clattering, when another fist aggressively bumped his arm. Miss Shay swung around to lean back beside Alistair and affectionately jabbed an elbow into his side.

"Too busy lying awake at night," she drew out teasingly, "thinking about his new girlfriend."

"Oh my gods," Alistair muttered, only barely having the time to facepalm.

Alan grinned, brows raised in question. "Girlfriend?" he echoed. "Did you say new girlfriend?"

Lyall quirked both brows with equal interest.

"New girlfriend!" Miss Shay repeated excitedly. "And then the sucker brings me to the party." She smacked Alistair's arm. "What's that about, man?"

"I'm going outside now," Alistair said dully instead, peeling away from the wall. He didn't even get one step out before his good friend hooked an arm around his neck and dragged him back. "Dammit, Shay!" he hissed, leveling his plate with one hand. "You almost made me drop the food!"

Completely disregarding his disgruntled protests, she hauled him down under her arm to aggressively muss his hair. "Answer the damn question, you little turd nugget!"

Thoroughly embarrassed, Alistair slung his arm over his head to push her away, moaning, "Then let go of me already!"

"Nope," she chirped, holding fast. "Answer first, freedom after."

"Or don't answer," Alan offered instead, unhelpfully. "This is just as entertaining."

Lyall cast him a mildly admonishing glance at that. "Let the poor man eat," he countered.

"Not until he answers," Shay insisted with a laugh. She gave the hair-mussing a rest to lean down and offer him a sincere smile. "You can still eat, though, I won't stop you."

"We just got together. I'm not going to invite her to a party where people put you into headlocks," Alistair rebutted, accepting his fate and no longer pushing away.

"I don't put everyone in headlocks, dumbass," Shay retorted, frowning in offense. "Just dumbasses."

"Who are you talking about?" Alan asked when his brother simply groaned in response. "Wait. Don't tell me..." A grin spread across his face. "Aisling?"

"Shay, please," Alistair groaned. "Don't make me confirm that without my dignity."

"Think of his dignity," Lyall echoed in an appeal on his behalf.

Inclining her head, Shay lifted both hands in yielding as she released their poor victim of harassment. Alistair snapped upwards, quick to deliver a flat and unappreciative look towards her. She only snickered.

"Thanks, Lyall," Alistair grumbled, running his hand through his messy hair. "I can only trust you now."

Flashing him a brief grin, Lyall nodded his acknowledgment. "Carry on, my good sir."

"That's right, good sir," Alan added on teasingly, crossing his arms. "Carry on. Do tell. We're all waiting to hear about this mysterious new girl of yours."

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, his cheeks still flushed a warm pink color. "You are all making this so weird," he muttered. "...Yeah. It's Aisling."

"Fuck, yeah!" Shay exclaimed, punching his arm. "Dude finally made a freaking move!"

"How long did that take?" Alan asked, but directed the question towards Shay. "They met each other like... six months ago? Gods, it was painful to watch."

"Oh, fuck you, man," Alistair growled. "Like it's not painful to watch you prance around like a romance novel reject."

Alan scoffed in offense. "I do not."

"You most certainly do!" Lyall immediately retorted with a frown. "Utterly gratuitous displays I just witnessed not ten minutes ago."

"Oh, forgive me, lord of love, for kissing my girlfriend of two years," Alan mocked with a roll of his eyes. "I know you'd do the same if you brought your knight in shining armor."

"Excuse you," Lyall was quick to answer, burying the way that stung more than it had any right to, "said knight with a pen for a sword is in the midst of scoping a very high-profile case, and this report is due by the end of the week. Throughout which, there will be plenty more opportunities for him to partake in festivities."

Alan poked at his shoulder, enunciating with each syllable, "De-flec-ting."

Lyall's frown deepened. Quite displeased, but out of defenses.

"Well," Miss Shay offered with a genuinely encouraging grin, "at least ya'll got people."

"Oh-kay," Alistair said awkwardly, clearing his throat. He lifted a palm, heading towards the door that opened into the backyard. "This got weird. I'm going outside now so I can suffer in the heat."

"Not alone, you're not," Shay countered, playfully tapping her toe to the back of his knee as she followed close behind him.

"You coming?" Alistair asked over his shoulder towards his brother, door open. "I think Makena wanted to talk to you. She's in a mood."

"Yeah, we'll join in a second," Alan said with a feigned smile and a wave of his hand.

Dammit.

Ducking his head, Lyall hastily skulked back into the kitchen with his load. He could not deal with Alan's meddling right now.

But of course, Alan was following closely behind, watching his every movement. Perceiving his hidden thoughts.

"You're upset," he commented first.

Lyall dumped the dishes in the sink and pushed up his sleeves. "I'm not," he answered evenly. Knowing it was pointless to argue, but he had his pride still.

"Move over," Alan ordered, though pushed him away with a bump of his hip anyways. "I'm not letting you do dishes as a guest."

With greater force, Lyall hip-checked him back, nudging him away. "Yes, you are."

"Fine." Stubbornly, Alan snatched the sponge and rinsed it under the running water. "Then we do it together."

Letting out a loud, put-upon huff, Lyall shook his head as he grabbed the drying rag instead. "Sodding..." And he trailed off to mutter unintelligibly. The dull throbbing around his crown returned twice fold, it felt, making it hard to think very clearly when there was no one else to distract him from it.

Alan glanced at him as he scrubbed the dirtied dishes, smile growing. "Your tea is right next to you, by the way."

He furrowed a brow at him. "My what..."

Alan gestured towards the counter beside him. "Your tea mug, which you abandoned a bit ago. Drink it."

Glancing left, sure enough, revealed an abandoned mug filled with a faintly green-tinted color.

"It must be quite bitter now," Alan went on, focused on scrubbing in circular patterns. "You might want to add honey or sugar."

Stepping away for the moment, Lyall indeed silently measured out some honey. "Thank you," he murmured absently.

"You are welcome," Alan replied warmly. "Hopefully it helps your headache."

Rejoining him by the sink, their shoulders almost brushing, Lyall took an experimental taste. And felt his expression sour with the bitterness. "Perhaps that was more than ten minutes ago," he muttered into his tea with puckered lips. He drew another sip anyway.

"Eh..." Alan shook off a plate, setting it to dry on the mat. "It's fine. Time is but a social construct anyways. It especially flies by when you're with people you care about."

Setting it down, Lyall glanced off. "It certainly does."

...Fuck. He really wished Santiago had joined.

"So." Alan glanced his way. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm n--" Lyall sighed. Then settled instead for a half-hearted, "Fuck off," as he took up the rag again and thoroughly wiped down the plate.

But Alan was unrelenting. "I feel like you've been more upset than usual since Lara left. Am I wrong?" he asked.

"Quite wrong," Lyall answered smoothly. "I'm just... grouchy, as you like to say." He spun a hand around the side of his head. "The tea should help."

"You are not grouchy," Alan insisted. And did not help his case when he flicked water towards him. "I just bring it out of you, for some reason. So I just want to know: why?"

Alan was giving himself far too much credit. As per usual.

"Ever consider," Lyall proposed, tone diplomatic as he finally turned to face him again, "that it has absolutely nothing to do with you? Hm?" He set the plate aside, face-up. "And you say I've got an ego."

"Well, I wish it were," Alan replied more seriously, his focus sharpening on dish cleaning. "Not out of ego, no. I wish it were me so as least I know what I could do to change." He sighed, quietly adding on, "I'd rather you not suffer in silence. That's all."

Pursing his lips, Lyall quietly considered the side of his friend's face. He couldn't not deflate further from the simple, caring admission. "You've done plenty," he assured him, tone softening, and raised the mug again. "I'll be fine."

Alan paused, turning towards him as the water ran through his fingers. He studied Lyall's face questionably, as if he were searching for his thoughts again. "Will you?" he said doubtfully.

Chin tilted up, Lyall clicked his tongue in offense. Then, finally indirectly relenting yet not fully yielding, he bumped his mug to Alan's shoulder and said simply, "You don't answer me, I don't answer you."

Alan scoffed in offense. "I do answer you. You're the one not answering me."

"Well," Lyall scoffed, louder, "now you're just a boldfaced liar." He took another swig of the godsawful leaf water.

Frowning, Alan turned off the water and fully turned towards him, hand on his hip. "Fine," he said, irritated. "Ask me anything."

"Gladly," Lyall replied without hesitation. "Does it bother you that Mister Matias thinks your craft is a waste of time?"

And, predictably, Alan didn't answer straightly. Instead he lifted a hand in offense, sneering, "What kind of question is that? You already know the answer."

"Answer." Reaching with his free hand, Lyall jabbed a finger at Alan's shoulder. "The fucking question."

Alan was quick to slap his hand away, turning back towards the sink. He gripped the edge of the counter, arm brushing against his side and invading his space.

"Of course it bothers me, Lyall," he answered plainly. "It would bother anyone. It's not even about him. It's about the damn premise. Obviously I'd be bothered if someone thinks what I do is a waste of time. Who wouldn't?"

Now look who's de-flec-ting.

Lyall hummed with a slow nod. Then shifted his weight to one foot, warmly pressing a shoulder on Alan's. "But... Matias. Specifically." Dropping his voice to an understanding murmur, he pressed, "Not having your family's support is different from some random sod on the street telling you to do something worthwhile. That sod doesn't matter. Your family does."

"Matias thinks I should be a fucking mason," Alan said flatly with a shake of his head. He sighed, sliding his hands inwards to dunk back into the sink. "I don't listen to him, anyways. It's seriously not a big deal." He paused, giving Lyall a pointed glance. "Is that why you're so upset?"

Lyall breezily hummed again. "Sure. I was rearing to fight your uncle with my bare hands."

Alan dramatically turned to him with an even flatter expression, his lips pressed together and browns drawn inwards with an unimpressed manner. Allowing himself a grin, Lyall shrugged a shoulder.

"Foaming at the mouth," he went on lightly, feeling oddly encouraged and deeply amused by this reaction. "I'll kick his ass for you," he said-- actually half-joking-- "just say the word."

"Lyall," Alan called heavily. He set aside another clean plate but didn't yet move to clean another, nor elaborated any further.

"Alan," Lyall chirped back.

"Can you please tell me the truth?" he went on stiffly.

"I certainly can," Lyall answered, taking on a smug tone now, "but will I? That's the real question."

His question was only met with silent, moody dish scrubbing. Lyall was tempted to leave it at that, but... Fair was fair.

Eventually, and not without a more amused huff, Lyall bumped shoulders with him. "Why does that bother you so much? I'm allowed to just... be a grouch sometimes, right? We all have days."

"It doesn't," Alan answered with no energy or emotion behind the words, "and you are."

"Well, clearly it does," Lyall rebutted, picking up the next washed dish. "Because you've prompted me about it a total of five times by now, all within the span of about twenty minutes."

"Of course you've been counting," Alan mumbled.

"Tell me why it bothered you so much," Lyall pushed, "then I'll answer. Honestly."

Alan dropped a dish back into the water, sharply turning to blurt out, "Because I care about you!" Sighing, he shook his head and returned his focus to the same dish, idly scrubbing. "I've already said it, but I can say it again if you're wanting me to. That's really it, Lyall. I just care about your everyday life. There's really not anything else to it."

Hm. Well, Lyall wasn't sure what answer he was expecting. Perhaps something that went beyond that? Alan was at first under the impression that it had something to do with what he was doing-- which. He wasn't entirely wrong, but Lyall couldn't simply tell him that.

So, after a short silence, he gave him the different yet equally true answer of: "I asked Santiago to come with me tonight. But he was too busy. So I am upset. But not so much that I won't come back around. Not to worry."

Alan's expression softened, the previously hard lines of his face melting into a delicate understanding. Turning towards Lyall, he turned off the faucet and leaned against the counter, giving his friend his full attention. "You miss him," he said softly.

Lyall slowly rested the next plate atop the first, his own attention fixed on the chipped edge. "I do," he quietly confirmed.

"I'm sorry," Alan said even softer, just above a whisper, his eyes still searching his. "I didn't mean to come across as insensitive. I wish he were here, too."

"It's fine, truly," Lyall tried assuring him with a mustered grin. "I've no good reason to be so ornery about you and Lara." Snatching up the wash cloth while Alan's attention was turned, Lyall bumped him out of the way of the sink. "I'll just visit him later tonight."

"Or," Alan offered seamlessly as he circled around Lyall to take his spot next to the dried dishes, "you can visit him now." He picked up a dried plate, inspecting for water droplets with a smile. "It'd be a nice surprise, especially since he'd expect you to be here instead. I think he'd appreciate it."

Perhaps. But Lyall felt like he was constantly tumbling in on Santiago in the midst of work. He didn't want to become a nuisance.

Scrubbing down a bowl, Lyall echoed, "I'll visit him later." He rinsed it off before lightly smacking it over Alan's chest, still wet. "I'm visiting with a very dear friend of mine, first and foremost tonight."

Alan grimaced, peeling the dripping wet place away from his chest and staring down at it with a dismayed pout. "Well, your dear friend is dangerously close to kicking you out for being a nuisance," he grumbled, flicking the plate and sending water droplets his way.

"He'd never," Lyall said smugly. "For he's a very kind, amazingly forgiving soul."

"Is that a challenge?" Alan said flatly.

"Kick me out, then." Lyall let his hands rest against the inside of the sink and cast him a cheeky grin. "I dare you."

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." Alan hummed, slowly breaking into a grin himself as he reached up to open the cabinet, setting the dried plates away. "No."

Humming victoriously, Lyall set back to work. "Figures."

The Hawkings have a very nice yard, Leilan thought as he quickly snuck around the back of the house. Easy to hide in.

At least, it was in summer. The magnolia tree Jordan picked as his hiding spot would be bare and obvious in winter, but as the tree's branches were full now, Leilan couldn't even see him through the foliage. He stopped at the base of the tree, squinting up.

"Dude," Jordan said lowly. "You're so loud."

"I am not," Leilan huffed, reaching for a low-hanging branch and pulling himself up.

"You and your big goliath feet," Jordan said anyway. "Stomping your way over here. I could hear you from a mile away."

"Oh, so that's why your ears are so big," Leilan reasoned, climbing up to sit on the branch beside him.

"Not as big as your mouth," Jordan retorted in a mutter.

"Hey, you should respect your elders," Leilan said, pressing a hand to his heart.

"Just get up here and be still already," Jordan said, quieter.

Leilan cracked a smile, but he did as asked, settling in and letting his legs dangle below him.

"Anything new here?" he asked, at a lower volume.

"No," Jordan said. "Just... normal things."

Leilan nodded, humming quietly as he looked out through the leaves. He could see through the largest window facing their way on the top floor, which appeared to be someone's room.

"I hope you don't mind me joining you," he said, a touch more seriously. "I got done with my things for Barlowe, and I just... I didn't feel like going to any of the places I would normally visit."

Jordan was quiet for a moment, but then relented with a small nod. Something in his eyes softened as he glanced back at Leilan.

"You haven't seen Alexander again, have you?" Jordan asked quietly.

Leilan shook his head.

"No," he said. "I don't know if that's better or worse."

It felt like there had been eyes on the back of his head all day along. He'd kept turning and twisting over his shoulder as he went around, trying to find that watchful presence. He'd never seen Alexander. And even though he was thorough, he knew there was a chance he could still be missing him.

"Gods, he's such a creep," Jordan murmured. "Flirting with people he's scoping out for a kill. It's twisted."

"It is," Leilan said quietly. "It was actually worse when the act dropped for a moment, though."

Jordan shot a concerned look Leilan's way.

"What?" he asked, sounding worried, and even a touch angry. "What'd he do?"

Leilan felt his shoulders sink a bit.

He hadn't gone through all the details last night-- he'd been in a hurry, and even a little panicked. There were only a few things he felt he could explain to the group there: that Alexander had approached him under the guise of flirting, that he'd deduced he'd been placed on a watchlist, and that he needed someone to walk him back to his place. All of three of them had.

"He dropped the news that my biological dad was caught and killed for being a lightning mage, somewhat recently," he said, a little faintly. "He said he thought it was the 'right thing' to let me know. But... they probably searched for his next of kin, and found me."

He shrugged weakly.

"I didn't know he was a mage," he said. "I thought I'd be safe from being found, what with being so far removed from biological family. But I guess there was a connection for them to follow."

Jordan pinched his brows together, biting his lip in visible worry as he glanced back out at the Hawking manor, clearly too distracted by the news to actually pay attention.

"Alexander..." Jordan said slowly. "He's. He's known for being..."

Crazy. Everyone who knew enough to pay attention to him knew that.

"He's not going to give up easy," Jordan said, fainter. "I know you'll be careful but... I'm worried."

Leilan bit his lip. He couldn't lie and say he wasn't worried too.

"I guess... sometimes, you can do everything right, and something can still sneak up and bite you when you least expect it," he said softly.

Jordan was quiet for a moment, casting his worried gaze into the Hawking's second-floor window.

"How are we going to get him off your back?" Jordan asked softly.

Leilan winced slightly.

"Keep playing along," he said. "Make him think I didn't inherit it. And hope to the gods nothing comes along to prove me guilty."

There was a longer pause this time.

"Is it weird... knowing your dad's...?" Jordan trailed off.

Leilan inhaled softly through his nose, trying to find the words.

"I don't know how to feel about it," he said. "On one hand, it doesn't faze me. I never knew him, and what I knew of him, I didn't like. I don't think about him much, and for all I knew before yesterday, he was dead already. But on the other hand, it is strange to think about him dying, however far removed from me he was, is still enough to put me in this situation. A complete stranger died and now the same could happen to..."

He trailed off weakly.

"Did Alexander say who killed him?" Jordan asked softly. "Your father?"

Leilan swallowed.

"He didn't," he said. "He said he didn't know him personally. But something about the way he spoke felt like he took responsibility for it."

A heavy silence followed that neither of them knew how to fill.

"I'm sorry," Jordan said quietly. "I wish I knew what to say. This all just sucks."

Leilan smiled in a faint, reassuring way. He hoped it didn't look too sad, but in his heart, he knew it did.

"I don't think you've ever said it outright," Jordan said. "But... your parents and sisters aren't around anymore. Right?"

Leilan shook his head.

"No," he said gently. "There was an earthquake in the town I was born in, off the coast of the Moonlight Kingdom, when I was seven. A bad one. I got lucky twice-- once to survive the disaster when my mom and siblings didn't, and a second time to catch the notice of my new parents, who adopted me there and took me with them."

Leilan pressed his lips together, thinking.

"I wasn't aware I had any magical heritage until I suddenly had magic," he said. "Either my mother didn't know my dad was a mage, or she never told the three of us. I'll... I guess I'll never know whether my sisters would've grown up to be mages, too."

Jordan nodded slowly.

"Your family you got adopted into... do they know about your magic?" Jordan asked.

Leilan shook his head.

"No," he said quietly. "I love them, but it should really stay that way."

Jordan fell quiet for a moment, turning to look back at the manor, but he wasn't really watching anymore.

"Yeah," Jordan said absently. "It's probably for the best."

Silence fell between them for a few moments. Leilan tried to watch the house on Jordan's behalf, but he felt himself spacing out too.

"I ran away from home when I was nine," Jordan said suddenly, unprompted.

Pausing, Leilan turned to look at him silently, with a soft, encouraging and attentive look.

"I used to have a big family, in Redwater. I was the fifth of seven siblings, and I discovered I had magic really early. None of my older siblings had it," Jordan continued. "But I don't know about the younger two. And I probably never will."

Jordan looked down at the branch he'd been holding onto, propping himself up in the tree.

"I can't really remember them," he admitted quietly. "Any of them, really."

Leilan gently rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, sitting with him in the heavy subject. The news hurt his heart.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "Did you have anyone looking out for you?"

"A sister," Jordan said, but then added, softer. "Well. She was like a sister. We weren't, actually. But..."

He shrugged weakly, mustering a weak smile.

"Her name was Raya," he said. "But she died a while ago."

"Caught?" Leilan asked softly.

Jordan hesitated, looking away, like he was trying to shake off whatever memory came up.

"Yeah," he said stiffly. "I..."

There was a long pause, but Leilan kept listening, not wanting to rush him.

"I got adopted, a few years before she died," Jordan said, like he was forcing the words out. "She didn't want to be adopted with me though, even though she had the chance. So she... she moved away, and I wasn't there to help her when it happened."

Leilan's heart sank for him.

Jordan's composure started to crack a bit, and his eyes shut tightly. Jordan lifted a hand to rub his eyes, hiding his face.

"Gods, I don't know how to say this," he murmured.

"You don't have to say anything you don't want to," Leilan said softly.

"No, but it's-- gods it sucks not being able to talk to anyone about it but Eve," Jordan said, exasperated.

Leilan knew the two of them had known each other before Eve had joined their ranks, somehow. Jordan had spoken of her to the resistance, and they'd recruited her. What the nature of or reasons for their connection was before then, though, he'd never known.

"It's just so-- like, she knew," Jordan went on. "She knew what my--and she still-- and--ugh!"

Jordan drug his hand down his face and landed it back on the branch with a sigh.

"Shane Hawking is my brother," he said, practically spitting it out.

Leilan blinked. He was listening, and very much still in the moment. But this caught him completely off guard.

Slowly, he looked away from Jordan to face the house again, staring at it like he could see into its walls if he tried hard enough.

"The Hawkings adopted you...?" he asked softly, the information only half-sinking in.

"Yes," Jordan groaned, sinking deeper into the tree.

Leilan didn't know what to make of all this. It was only one moment ago he'd heard Jordan had been adopted; and now he was hearing it was by the same family they were surveilling, right now.

A family he was no longer among.

"They didn't-- they didn't do anything to you, did they?" he asked quietly, ready to be angry at a moment's notice.

If they'd hurt him...

"No," Jordan said, his voice barely audible. "They were perfect."

And though Jordan's voice stayed steady, Leilan could hear Jordan's heart break when he said it.

Oh. That was... That was so much worse.

Leilan rested a comforting arm over Jordan's shoulders, feeling his own heart ache.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked gently.

"I ruined everything," Jordan said, his eyes locking on the window as the light went out.

"That doesn't sound like you," Leilan said softly.

"I freaked out," Jordan said. "And I-- I used my magic. The whole town saw."

Leilan paused. Jordan had run again, hadn't he? With even less choice in the matter? The Hawkings wouldn't have been able to do anything, either. They could've-- and probably had-- kept Jordan's secret, but if it'd gotten out, not even the most powerful of families could've saved him from the Letteran DAMG.

So he'd saved himself, from the sounds of it.

"That would've been an accident, Jordan," Leilan said softly. "It wouldn't have been your fault."

Jordan shook his head, pinching his eyes shut.

"No," he said quietly. "I... no."

"No?" Leilan echoed softly, not understanding.

"It was my fault," Jordan said, more firmly. "I had a chance to go back before... before..."

Jordan shut his eyes again.

"I'm talking about this in a tree," he muttered morosely. "Behind their house. And they think I'm dead. You realize how messed up that is, right? I thought I could do this and it'd be simple, but it feels anything but."

It was. It was messed up. Leilan couldn't imagine how he'd feel if he discovered Kalea or Malia lurking outside his home one day, well and alive. He couldn't imagine the guilt and fear resting on Jordan's shoulders, either. He would've been in hiding for... what, three years now?

The longer he hid himself, the harder it would be to return, too.

"You don't have to do it," Leilan said gently. "If Eve knows about this, I'm sure she'd understand if it was too much for you-- we can find someone else for the job. Jordan, I am so sorry you're carrying all this."

"I want to look out for him, though," Jordan said, more firmly. "I want-- if there really is a threat, I-- I feel like I owe him this. To keep him safe, you know?"

Leilan turned away from the manor again to look at Jordan sadly.

"Are you talking about Shane in particular?" he asked quietly.

It was a little strange to talk about someone important and only use their first name. But it made sense given the company.

Jordan pressed his lip into a line, furrowing his brows.

"Yeah," Jordan said softly. "Shane."

Something about the way Jordan said his name-- and how he mentioned him specifically rather than the whole family when he was first sharing this-- told Leilan that Shane probably meant a lot to Jordan. His heart clenched again.

"Do you think there is something afoot?" he asked softly, a little worried. "Or are you just a little extra protective of him?"

Jordan swallowed.

"...Both," Jordan said quietly.

Maybe he shouldn't be acting as this much of a distraction. Leilan flicked his gaze around the yard quickly to make sure they hadn't missed anything.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"I think the suns are watching him," Jordan said, quieter. "But I don't know why."

Leilan's eyes widened a little despite himself.

"That's..." he murmured. "That doesn't make sense. We've never seen any overlap between the Blue Suns' operations and your family before." He kept himself from saying their family at the last moment.

"That's why I don't get it," Jordan said. "But there's this... I think it's one of Sparrow's agents. I've only seen her once or twice. She's hard to spot."

Leilan rubbed his face. "Have you seen enough of her to pass along a description to Cyrin?"

"She's too fast," Jordan murmured.

That wasn't good.

"Admittedly," Leilan said slowly, thinking out loud, "when Eve gave you this job, I didn't see why it was necessary. I couldn't see how they might actually be threatened-- maybe people were wishing them harm, but weren't going to carry it out. I'm reconsidering that now."

"I think she was onto something," Jordan said softly. "But... I don't think she wanted to be."

Leilan nodded slightly. Right. If Eve did have a quiet eye on them, she could've put together that something was happening.

"Did she know them too?" he asked gently.

Jordan flicked his eyes over to Leilan, and the brief look of panic in his eyes told him that Jordan hadn't meant to reveal that information.

"...We should be quiet, now," Jordan said faintly. "Trees don't talk."

Leilan felt a pang of regret, even though he hadn't known not to ask that question. He nodded, squeezing Jordan gently with his arm around his shoulders for a moment.

"Alright," he agreed quietly.

A hand in the window reached out to pull the curtains shut for the evening. Before they closed completely, Leilan saw Shane taking a quick glance through the gap-- looking not at them, but at the clouds over the dimming sky. There was a sort of sad longing in his gaze.

Then the curtain was drawn fully shut, and that brief glimpse was gone.

The thing with party days on festival week, was that they seemed to never really end. Between greeting most of Alan's relatives and playing diplomat between Lyall's siblings and the younger Alvaro cousins, and anticipating to sneak out to Santiago's place after dessert at home, time passed by at a snail's pace and all too quickly, all of once. The paradox put Lyall in an odd mental state of limbo on the walk from South End back to City Center.

Or maybe that was just the alcohol talking.

He kept one eye on the kids ambling ahead of him, the other on Mum, and his ears attuned to the city and strangers around them.

His mother was likewise tipsy, if not in worse condition than himself. With their arms linked, still giggling about the impromptu show that she and Natalie had put on for the families. Lyall only had the presence of mind to half-listen to her rambling.

The smell of citrus and lavender, mixed with the warm spices of the food she didn't even eat, overpowered his senses. And even with her full weight pressing against his side, she felt too light.

Per Lyall's prompting, Vik grabbed the gate to the side of the property. The windows of the patients' ward were still lit, so the children quieted as they made their way around. Hild met them all at the back door and accompanied their mother up the stairs to their residence.

Lyall was still just locking up behind him, and he could already tell Bo had been here for a little while already. The giant man's booming laugh could be heard all the way down the network of corridors and the stairwell, and the smell of baked breads and fresh greens lingered on anything he'd touched. These small hints alone already put Lyall's buzzed mind a little more at ease.

Tove shrieked in awe and delight. "You made cake?"

Huffing his fondness, Lyall took two steps at a time up the stairwell. In the dining room, his younger siblings were all gathered around the end of the table. Tove was already perched on Bo's shoulders, and Vik excitedly tapped his paws up on the table's edge. Mum reclined at the other end, cheek resting against her palm as she watched with endearment.

"Carrot cake," Bo said, holding a large covered plate. He set it down on the table, lifting the lid to reveal a three-tiered cake, completely frosted with white, cream-cheese frosting, and decorated intricately with colored frosting drawings of bunnies running around the tiers, chasing carrots.

"Who wants to get the plates and forks?" Bo asked with a smile. "And of course, a serving knife."

Jumping back down from the table, the two youngest skittered off without a second thought.

Coming up alongside the man, Lyall warmly patted a hand to Bo's back. "What is the occasion?" he laughed, studying the expert piping with an amazed smile of his own.

"I had a lot of time on my hands today," Bo said with a small smile, pulling in Lyall by the shoulders into a firm side hug. He ducked his head down to kiss the top of Lyall's head. Snorting softly at the affection, Lyall happily leaned into his side.

"And I know you'd all like it, so," he said, gesturing to the cake. "It's worth it to see your faces."

With one last affectionate squeeze, Lyall withdrew and drifted down to the other end to sit by their mother. Casting him a warm, worn smile, Mum reached over and took his hand in hers.

Tove dashed back into the dining room before Lyall could think to say "thanks." She dropped the utensils on the table in a loud clatter. "I win!" she declared.

"Plates?" Bo asked.

"Heavy!" Vik huffed as he slid in after, the dishes stacked high in his arms. "And you got a head start!"

"That's my strong boy!" Bo said, ruffling Vik's hair as he passed and heaved the plated near the utensils. Viktor puffed out his chest a little with the praise.

Ulf took the empty spot at Bo's side, holding up the serving knife with a flat expression.

"Perfect, Ulf," Bo said, pulling Ulf into a quick side hug, and taking the knife. "Time to cut this cake into many, many, Ashlund-digestible-sized pieces."

And thus, Bo doled out slices of cake to each of the family members one by one, plopping one on a plate and passing it down. Eventually, everyone had a sizeable piece and was chipping away at it. The cake was rich and moist, and the frosting was creamy and sweet. It was a recipe Bo had used many times over the years, and Lyall could remember the very first time they'd had it, in Ruddlan, when Lyall and Hild were still small, Ulf only just born, and Abe was still around.

It had been to celebrate their new home, where they first lived in the South End, at a small housewarming party.

Usually Bo only made the cake for special occasions - but he was also travelling constantly. So often when he was in town, that either aligned with an actual festivity, or was rather an occasion on its own.

Everyone's plates by the end of the hour were either empty, or half-full with second helpings.

Mum's first slice was largely untouched.

Tove had sleepily crawled up onto Lyall's lap and leaned her back to his chest to idly play with his hands. Lyall followed Uncle Bo with his eyes, trying to watch as closely and subtly as he could as the giant man bent down beside where Mum reclined. Only a few words were exchanged before they parted for the hallway.

The beers from the Alvaro gathering and Viktor's loud objections muddled Lyall's senses. He couldn't catch their words through the doors, and then he couldn't help but fear the worst.

News from the Resistance? Something to do with uprooted mages in need? Lyall recalled them having that conversation only once or twice before, and they'd left it at Astrid's firm "no" on the matter of knowingly providing shelter, on behalf of the network, and Bo stalwartly respecting her decision. So that didn't seem a likely subject of conversation now.

Did they have to leave Ruddlan? Just the thought of someone having potentially found them out again-- somehow, despite the lengths they'd gone to hide themselves well in plain sight-- and sending the hounds on their trail put him on edge.

But if that were the case, they wouldn't have sat for cake.

Any other potential disaster scenario just made him bitterly think, of fucking course. Of course something would strike in the midst of an entire week of celebration, when he was on threshold of a new chapter with Santiago, when Mum was at her weakest...

The doors to the dining room opened again, and Uncle Bo and Mum walked back in. Silent, somber, and hand-in-hand. They stood at the head of the table together, in favor of retaking their seats.

Tilting her chin up, Astrid softly cleared her throat. All eyes snapped up to them, and her usual bravado actually faltered for a second.

"I," she started slowly, "have news. Something I've admittedly known for... months now. And of which you all must be made aware of as well, now."

In the brief pause, none of the younger Ashlunds dared pipe up. Not yet. They all knew her "bad news" tones of voice well. And from this one in particular, Lyall felt dread pool in his gut.

While Mum visibly struggled to gather the nerve to go on, Uncle Bo gave her hand a gentle squeeze in encouragement. That only put another crack in her composure.

Voice thick, she only got as far as, "I'm," before words completely failed her again. Her gaze turned distant and glazed over.

Uncle Bo cast Mum a look of transparent heartbreak.

"Your mother is sick," he said soberly.

There followed an expectant silence. Mum looked so lost, and actually small for once. Lyall would have risen to his feet, had Tove not settled on him.

"With what? For how long?" Hild asked, tone sharp as she herself stood. "Months, you said?"

"Do you have medicine for it?" Viktor asked, brows creased with worry.

Bo looked to Astrid.

Swallowing, she blinked herself back to the present within the room. "I don't..."

Lyall glanced between Hild and Ulf, able to read from their faces that their minds were racing. They were mentally tearing through every medical text they could remember. Every potential new disease, and thus the potential following antidote, if there were any.

Looking back to Mum, Lyall knew better.

"She's sought out outside opinions," Bo said, softer. "They haven't been able to diagnose it. Their best hypothesis is that it's late stage cancer, somewhere in her digestive system. But the diagnostic procedure would be too risky, and she's too far along."

Bo swallowed.

"It's terminal," he said quietly.

And, just like that, it all made so much sense. Her loss of appetite, decreased energy levels, all the trips to the hospital and doctors from surrounding towns, the intense perfumes she wore all the damn time as of late.

Lyall hated that he hadn't been able to put the pieces together much sooner.

Viktor began to clamber out of his chair. Mum only waved him back down, mustering a weak smile. Bo, however, welcomed Viktor over with a wave of his arm. Unsure now, Vik hovered over his seat.

"Don't mourn me just yet," Astrid said, voice just above a murmur. "We still have time before then, my love."

His uncertainty winning out, Viktor lowered himself back in his seat.

"Right now, we only have the doctor's best estimates," Bo said gently.

"Which are?" Hild prompted.

Bo looked to Astrid, his expression mournful.

"Three, maybe four, months," Astrid answered, her somber gaze finally drifting Lyall's way.

In her eyes, he saw the exact instant her heart rent in two. And it was only then that he realized, Tove had drifted off to sleep in his loose hold. Feeling himself grow distant, Lyall more securely wrapped his arms around her and pressed a small, sad kiss to the crown of her little head.

He'd have to try to tell her in the morning, then. Hopefully by that point, he'll have wrapped his own head around it all.

And then the night drew on. The dining room was cleaned up, the residence locked down for the night. Even after the lights went out, Bo stuck around. So Lyall helped set him up in the living room. They exchanged quiet 'goodnight's, and he pretended to not notice Bo's silent offer to a hug as he turned his attention back to Tove.

It was later in the night, when Tove found her way out of her bed and into Lyall's, and sleep had evaded him for a couple hours already, that Lyall heard the door to Vik and Ulf's room ease open. There was light pattering, which he knew to be Viktor. But he didn't head to Mum's study. He went straight for the living room.

The first thing James did that morning was go to the stables with Caspar. It was nice to get out before sunrise, have a horse to tend to, and make sure everything was right in Billy's world before he had to worry about his own.

He did have second thoughts, though - about taking in a horse. He'd have to travel back with it, for one. That itself wasn't an impossible feat, but it was more work, and now James had to account for another piece in his ever-complicated puzzle of a plan that continued to make his head hurt. Because a lot of things made his head hurt these days, apparently. Heists were one of them.

He decided to push it out of his mind for the moment, though, since there was little he could do at present and more time between now and then than he knew what to do with.

Months in-between. It was a blessing and a curse. There was plenty of time to iron out details, but so much time to agonize over them.

He needed to get his head clear. He needed to do something. He needed to not think about the kingdom, or work, or plans, or anything that contributed to the ball of stress that housed itself in his chest.

So that was how he ended up at the Hawking's door.

His knock rang out a little hollow, and James had the thought that maybe he'd come by too horrifically early in the morning. The sun was up, but the city was still stirring, and maybe it was too presumptuous to assume anyone in the estates would bother being busy at this hour when they usually had servants to wait on them.

But the door did open to reveal one Ray Hawking, smiling warmly and gently.

"Tiberius!" he said. "It's so lovely to see you again."

James felt compelled to imitate the sentiment, but he genuinely could not recall a time former in which he and Ray had exchanged more than a sentence. It felt presumptuous to pretend in this circumstance, and yet Ray's warmth seemed so sincere.

Taken a little off guard, James shifted from one foot to the other.

"Oh," he said. "Good morning, Mr. Hawking. Is Shane up?"

Ray nodded, glancing behind him to the staircase. "Awake and upstairs," he confirmed, still smiling. "If you'd like to see him, he should be down any minute. Would you like to wait in our living room?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude," James said, a little quieter.

"Oh, our door is always open to guests," Ray said reassuringly, a little softer, seeming to sense James's reservations. "Please don't worry." He stepped aside from the door, extending his hand inside as an inviting gesture.

With a small duck of his head, James walked in, waiting in the entryway for where to go next. Ray didn't keep him awkwardly lingering, though, guiding him through the dining room they'd all eaten at together and into the cozy living room off to the side where he'd talked with Shane. The couch was unoccupied, and a coffee mug-- probably Ray's-- was sitting on the coffee table in front of one of the two armchairs.

"Thank you, Mr. Hawking," James said, sitting down on the couch a bit stiffly.

He couldn't help but recall the former, far more tense conversation he'd shared with Shane in this same room maybe a week ago.

That had been... well, he probably needed to follow up on that, still. So far, nothing drastic had happened yet. Shane at least showed no lack of initiative in reaching out, which honestly surprised him. James had thought after all of that, that Shane would've lost interest.

James didn't know why, but... that was what part of him wanted.

Only a part of him, though.

"Please, call me Ray," Ray said kindly, taking his seat again. "There's no need for honorifics or titles-- of which I have none-- with me."

"I-- really only meant it as a show of respect," James murmured apologetically.

Ray's smile softened again. "No need for apologies, either. It's very touching. I just wish for you to feel as comfortable as possible here." He lifted up his mug. "Speaking of, can I interest you in a cup of coffee? We have plenty, freshly made."

"No, thank you," James said with a nod. "I've... already eaten."

He also didn't drink coffee anymore because it just made his migraines worse when they hit. So, it was better not to.

"Good. It's important not to skip breakfasts," Ray said approvingly. "Please let me know if I can get anything else for you."

Probably best not to let on that what James meant by 'breakfast' was a singular slice of cheese, then.

"Alright," James said.

But there was nothing for him to inform Ray about, so he awkwardly was left with that.

Ray didn't make the awkward silence long, though, getting settled in his chair and still watching James with that kindly smile.

"How's your head?" Ray asked gently. "Shane had an injury like that once. It took him some time to recover too."

"A concussion?" James asked, forcing himself to not self-consciously touch the side of his head.

"And stitches," Ray added. "I've seen it can be very rough. You strike me as the kind of person who knows how to bear this-- I don't mean to imply you have weak resilience--"

"I survived a war," James said bluntly. "I know."

Ray nodded, a soft solemn look flashing in his eyes. "Of course. I hope you'll forgive my concern."

"I don't take offense to it," James said, relenting in his tone, and feeling a bit guilty for it. "It's just... tiresome."

He shrugged. "Not everyone asks about it, but everyone knows," he said. "The-- the fight at the Three Seasons, I mean."

Everyone knew about his role in the war, too, but he'd rather not crack that open again with Shane's father.

"News spread fast in this city," Ray said gently. "I'm very sorry it wasn't more hospitable to you. Did you find all the care you need?"

More hospitable? Ray had sent him a full meal and then some.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Hawking," he said, before quickly correcting himself. "Ray. You -- you were very generous. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to thank you personally. I appreciated your gift."

"No worries. It truly is my delight," Ray said, his smile widening a little. "If you need anything more of us, please don't hesitate to ask me or my wife. I mean it sincerely."

James nodded, but it felt awkward. He didn't know why the Hawkings were so fond of him after so little time and him offering quite literally nothing valuable in return. They kept saying he was welcome, but it didn't make sense to him. Maybe if he'd done something to earn their favor, he'd have merited this.

But as it stood it just felt... smothering, almost. But he also knew what that felt like, and this wasn't that.

"Um..." he said after what was probably too long of a pause.

Ray opened his mouth to clear the silence again, but James beat him to it.

"You seem. I mean. Your..."

Oh gods, he didn't even know what he was trying to say.

"I can see where Shane gets his generosity from," James finally said.

Ray's smile warmed even more, if possible, and James could tell he'd touched him.

"I'm very glad he's extending it to you," Ray said, fatherly pride in his voice. "He's a good kid. It's good to see him connecting with your group this summer."

James nodded. "Ah. Yeah. He's been good company."

And Kirk had taken a quick liking to him. Hellen and Fonzi, too. Ingrid was probably indifferent, and he didn't want to bother considering what Carter thought. Probably nothing kind.

"I was a bit surprised," he added, quieter. "That... it's worked out, this far."

"Surprised?" Ray echoed, with a curious tilt of his head and an inviting look.

James hesitated.

"Only-- well," he said. "With our affiliations being as they are, I... expected..."

But he couldn't really bring himself to admit it again. He'd barely found the courage to do it the first time. He didn't have that same energy to muster up again.

"I guess it doesn't matter," he said instead, looking to the floor.

Ray nodded, his expression turning thoughtful at that.

"Surprise is understandable," he said. "It's not the kind that disappoints me, though. We'd all be lonelier people if we didn't all learn to put our differences aside for a time and see each other's value as fellow humans, even if it is difficult. That's another lesson I've done my best to pass on."

That, at least, made more sense...

Shane had to get it from somewhere, anyway.

"Sounds like he had a good upbringing," James said, trying to manage a small smile.

He couldn't help but feel a little envious, even though he didn't want to. It sounded like Shane had parents who were present for the majority of his childhood.

"We did our best," Ray said, smiling back.

And then before James had the chance to speak, Shane's cat burst out of the dining room, bounded into the parlor, and promptly leaped onto James's lap.

James froze for a moment, wide-eyed as he stared down at the cat that appeared out of nowhere.

"Oh!" Ray brightened a little. "That's our cat, Shrimp. He's a sweetie, but I should've warned you about him-- he's very excited about guests. Do you like cats?"

The cat, Shrimp, got comfortably settled in James's lap. He looked very soft. He looked up at James with wide green eyes, letting out a happy mrrp. Allowing himself to relax after the initial surprise, James's shoulders lowered and he let out a small sigh, smiling faintly as he reached out to pet the cat's head. It earned him a delighted purr.

"I like this cat," he said quietly.

"Seems like he likes you back," Ray said, smile softening again.

"Is there a person Shrimp doesn't like?" James asked.

"There are people who are mean to cats," Ray said sadly as if the very thought broke his heart. "He didn't like a guest who tried kicking him once. They were not reinvited."

"Someone came over and tried kicking your cat?" James asked, admittedly sharing in the scandalized feeling that followed.

"Yes, and the poor sweetheart was skittish for a short while," Ray said, looking at Shrimp with sad fondness. "It was not a repeated incident, however, and I believe the only action needed to earn his everlasting love is to accept when he begs for pets."

James huffed, looking down at the cat that was happily receiving his recurring pets with the rhythmic movement of his fingers.

"Then I guess we're on the right track," he murmured.

A creaking of footsteps came from the stairs out the door. Shane was walking down-- fully dressed, hair combed, and a very sleepy look on his face. As he stopped in front of the living room, it took him a moment to realize James was there.

"Oh!" he said, with a slightly surprised smile. "Tiberius. Hi."

A beat.

"I see Shrimp found you," Shane added.

James nodded, his eyes brightening a bit when he saw Shane.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry to drop by without warning. I just... thought maybe I could catch you if you're free."

Shane nodded quickly. "Yeah. I'm free. If I can just--"

He moved quickly into what must've been their kitchen, because he came back with a pitcher of coffee and a mug, pouring himself a cup. Although it looked like he might drink it slowly, Shane suddenly chugged the coffee in a matter of seconds, setting the mug down.

"Alright," he said with newfound alertness. "Where are we headed?"

James stared but nodded.

"The stables, if you're up for it," he said. "I've yet to meet Arden."

Shane brightened a little.

"We should take Shrimp, then," he said. "He loves horses."

James looked down at the cat in his lap in pleasant surprise. He gently picked Shrimp up in his arms as he got to his feet.

"That he does," Ray agreed. "Do you like horses, Tiberius?"

James looked up from the cat that was starting to purr against his chest.

"Yes," he answered. "I've worked with them most of my life in different capacities."

Ray nodded like he'd said the right thing. "Have fun, the three of you!"

"Thanks, Dad," Shane said, flashing his father a warm smile. "I'll see you before the dinner."

With a nod of thanks, and one last goodbye from Shane, the two of them left the Cypress and headed down the road, following the paved path through the neighborhood, passing the well-kept manors and the Barlowe mansion. James led the way, and the two of them walked in silence in the early morning light.

As they walked past the mansion, the sun cast dark shadows over the path from the tall, three-story building. But as they turned the corner to the stables, they reentered the light.

James opened the door with one hand, still cradling Shrimp in his arms. Shane stepped in and James followed behind, waiting to be shown which horse was Arden.

Shane made his way over to a stall on their right, a small smile floating on his face. He stopped in front of a black horse with a dark mane that was patched with grayish-white spots. When the horse noticed Shane, he turned his head, letting out an eager sort of huff.

"Hey, big guy," Shane said gently, affectionately patting the horse's neck. "Sorry to not be seeing you quite as much. I brought some company today to make up for it."

James came up alongside Shane, watching the horse with affection.

"Is he comfortable with other people?" James asked to be sure.

"From everything I've witnessed, yes," Shane said, letting out a small laugh as Arden tried to shove his snout at Shane's face.

James reached over, approaching from Arden's side so the horse could see him. He pet Arden's mane where it fell around his ears.

"Hey there," he greeted Arden softly. "It's good to meet you."

The horse let out a huff of air, bowing his head. Suddenly Shrimp was wriggling in James's arms, and the cat jumped out of his hold to stand on the horse's back. Arden seemed undisturbed-- pleased, even-- as Shrimp comfortably loafed on his back.

"They get along well," Shane said, with a glance and a slightly wider smile to James.

"I can see that," James said with a small smile. "Do you think you'll take Arden out today?"

"I think so," Shane said, stroking Arden's mane. "He might like some activity."

James hummed, still joining in, petting Arden beside Shane.

"Hold on," he said, pulling his hand away. "I want to show you something."

"What's that?" Shane asked, looking to him curiously.

James couldn't suppress the small smile that came to his face. Instead of answering, he darted past Shane, waving for him to follow. With slowly dawning excitement, Shane followed after one last pet and a murmur to Shrimp and Arden that they'd be right back.

Billy wasn't more than a few stalls down, and James stopped in front of the stall, his giddy smile only growing. He looked over to Shane as Billy's head perked up, and Billy stepped forward, curiously sticking his head over the door.

Shane stopped beside him, his smile first sweet, then turning excited as he seemed to put things together. He looked between Billy and James.

"Did--" He let out a soft laugh of amusement. "Did you get another horse?"

"I won it," James said, smile brightening.

"From the race?" Shane asked, eagerness in his voice.

"I got in second," James said, turning to Billy to pet his snout. "They let me keep him."

"That's awesome," Shane said, beaming. "So you already know he's a good horse, too. Does he have a name?"

"Billy," James said, scratching affectionately under Billy's chin. "That's his given name, and he seems to know it. So no reason to change it."

"Hey, Billy," Shane said sweetly to the horse, still smiling as he reached to tentatively and gently pat the horse's forehead. "Nice to meet you. Good work yesterday."

Billy tilted his head to the side, leaning into Shane's touch.

"None of it was planned," James said, softer, watching how Billy calmly melted under the affection. "But... I'm glad I got him out of it."

"He seems very sweet," Shane said, moving on to stroking between Billy's ears. "A very good boy."

"He's honestly one of the best-behaved horses I've met," James said. "I feel spoiled, having put none of the hard work in on the front end."

Shane cracked a grin. "It's no small feat to train a horse. At least the two of you should get along now."

"I suppose so," James said, looking at Billy more fondly.

He supposed, in the midst of all his losses and troubles, this was a gift he shouldn't take for granted.

"Sorry for the theatrics, by the way," James added after a beat. "I just wanted it to be a surprise."

Shane's smile warmed. "It's a very nice surprise," he said, pulling his hand back. "Thank you for showing him to me."

James looked at Shane with another smile. "I was thinking since we both have horses now... we could go for a ride?" he asked.

Shane nodded, giddy excitement in his eyes.

"I think that'd be great," he said.

James did too.