Kain and Airalai sat across from one another in a corner booth that slled like scorched espresso and cinnamon. The coffeehouse was one of those Dark Moon fixtures that college students swore made the best studying fuel in the city and professors dismissed as "too loud to think in." The walls were brick, the lights were warm, and the tables were close enough that elbows could have brushed if soone leaned too far, leaving little sense of privacy between conversations.
They hadn’t ordered yet.
They hadn’t spoken, either.
They were simply... looking.
Kain folded his hands on the table, doing his absolute best not to fiddle with the spoon in front of him. Airalai mirrored him—hands clasped the sa way, shoulders relaxed, posture impeccable—so similar it was obvious they’d once lived under the sa roof, picking up the sa habits as kids and now unconsciously repeating them as adults.
For a long, awkward mont, they stared as if each was waiting for the other to blink first.
Kain’s thoughts: Okay. She’s real. She’s older but—yeah, that’s her. Sa eyes. Sa expression she used when Bridge tried to cook soup in a teapot.
Airalai’s thoughts: He grew into his features. His face had sharpened with age, losing the roundness she rembered, and now carried a sternness she didn’t recall. She had a feeling that taking over her position as the eldest child had likely made him mature faster.
Of course, she didn’t know that his fast ’maturation’ was due to him already possessing the soul of an adult when reborn.
Kain did a tiny, involuntary head tilt. The last ti he’d seen her, he’d been ten and she’d been thirteen. She had more height now, a cleaner jawline, and the kind of poise you only get from either military training or years of lying without blinking. Her hair—still that deep, unmistakable purple—fell over one shoulder, catching glints of amber from the chandelier above.
He was suddenly and acutely aware that if anyone from the orphanage walked by, this would be the most explosive event in the orphanage since the kitchen fire (Bridge had wanted to test out the recipes he’d learned in his spiritual cooking classes at the college...he has since been banned from the kitchen...and the college course).
A barista placed two glasses of iced water with the practiced kindness of soone who had seen too many dramatic breakups conducted over caral foam. "I’ll give you a minute," she said, before looking at them both with pity, clearly misunderstanding sothing.
They continued to say nothing.
Kain considered three different openings—Where have you been?, Are you alright?, and Blink twice if you’re here to kidnap —and discarded all of them.
Airalai’s internal debate was equally hectic. Start soft. Smile. Do not over-explain. Do not ntion a greater cause. Definitely don’t ntion the word "Abyss." Or "Black." Or "Dawn." Or experints.
They both inhaled to speak.
"Where—" Kain began.
"I—" Airalai said at the sa ti.
They both stopped. A gesture. "You first."
"No, you."
"I insist."
"I insist more."
They ping-ponged courtesy back and forth like two diplomats arguing over who should sit closer to the king until the barista returned to ask what they wanted and accidentally broke the stalemate.
Kain ordered a black coffee because he suddenly missed pain. Airalai ordered the sa while flinching, having no intentions of drinking the bitter bean water.
Kain cleared his throat. "Please... explain where you’ve been."
Airalai’s smile did not slip. "It’s a long story," she said softly.
’Great,’ Kain thought. ’My favourite kind. The long fictional kind.’
She folded her hands again, eyes on his, voice steady. "After I disappeared... I don’t rember much at first. I woke up far from the city. A household took in—rchants. They travelled often, so we moved from place to place. They were kind, but... protective. I didn’t know how to reach back. And then the years just..." She exhaled. "...stacked."
’rchants,’ Kain’s brain repeated dryly. ’Right. The travelling kind who specialize in the abduction-and-indoctrination import-export industry.’
"I didn’t even rember my na clearly for a while," she continued. "It ca back in pieces. Little scenes. The orphanage. Bridge yelling about catching insects. You, always racing sowhere with a scraped knee and a serious face."
A corner of his mouth twitched at the childish mories in embarrassnt. Although he’d had an adult’s mind, he did let his youthful body and Bridge’s energy drag him into acting like a real child...leading to so rather embarrassing dark history.
"I saw you on the broadcast," she said, eyes brightening just a fraction. "At the tournant. There was this mont where the cara held your face and—I knew. It clicked. I ca to find you."
’Not like this was my first year competing. I guess one could argue you just didn’t watch last year, but—let’s be honest—even I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’m pretty famous. A single glance online would’ve jogged your mory. So NO, you showed up now because you—or the people behind you—want sothing from .’
He put the cup down. "That explains the timing," he said aloud, gently. Pretending to buy the tall tale she was weaving.
She nodded gratefully, as if encouraged. "I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner," she said. "I thought—I thought it would hurt everyone more if I ca back so suddenly. I thought it’d be best to make contact with just you before barging back into your lives."
’How thoughtful...’ He thought sarcastically. But still, he was slightly grateful for the foresight—not because he believed she actually cared about them, but because she clearly wanted to reach him first, her likely ’target,’ without wasting ti on the others. Getting entangled again with her long-lost family will just delay the completion of her mission...whatever said mission was...
The idea of her near his family made his skin crawl. With the straight-faced ease she was lying with, he almost wondered if killing her would be safer than letting her linger around them...
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