Floor 1: Chapter Fourteen - Blossom

The streets swelled with spirits and bodies, laughter, and drifting ribbons of music. Lanterns floated in slow waves overhead, bobbing like low stars being lifted into the night sky by invisible strings.

We moved with the current, Dent leading the way like he owned the crowd, weaving between carts strung with pale silks and stalls offering everything from candied chestnuts to enchanted fireworks. No one was meant to be selling those, but I guess the Watch was giving everyone a break tonight, a small mercy that calmed my nerves.

Eshlyn clung to my arm, her silver gown glowing in every shift of the light, shining like she belonged to the moon. I welcomed the touch, like it would keep me from getting lost in the shuffle.

It wasn’t long before I noticed a street vendor selling ‘fortune blossoms’. I let my stride shift in the stalls' direction, figuring that at least Eshlyn or Dent might like the sentiment of something frivolous. “What do you think? Should we try it?”

"Remy… Surely you know those are a scam," Eshlyn whispered.

"So are most things worth buying," Dent countered, already following in that direction. “If you really want to kick things up a bit, I bet Remy could snag us some for a steal.”

I shot him a look. “Really? You think I’d do a better job than you, winging it as a pigeon?”

“Yes,” Dent grinned. “At least a ghost-hand doesn’t leave me naked afterward.”

“Didn’t know you were so eager to break laws.” I shook my head, exhaling a snicker. “Not in enough trouble already?”

“You’re both being ridiculous,” Eshlyn cut in, trying for seriousness but failing when I caught a smirky twitch of her lips. “We have plenty of coin for con-flowers.”

The vendor’s booth was little more than a rickety table draped in crimson, the blossoms resting in shallow wooden bowls that glowed faintly from within. Paper flowers folded and thin like pressed roses plucked too early.

A crooked and short spirit sat behind the table, his blue-hued eyes half-lidded and amused as he gestured at the offerings. “One blossom. One coin. Let fate do the rest.”

Eshlyn handed over three silver coins without hesitation. She looked unamused, but Dent was grinning like this was already the best mistake of the night. We each took one before moving on down the street.

I stared as it sat weightless in my palm, cool and smooth, catching the faint glow of the lanterns around us. A useless expenditure, I thought, but maybe interesting.

“Now what?” Dent asked, turning his over before facing the two of us.

“We hold them,” Eshlyn said with a sigh, like she couldn’t believe we were actually doing this. “Whatever they turn into is supposed to mean something. Love, loss, misfortune, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“What, you don’t believe in fate, Eshlyn?” I muttered, half a joke, though my hand steadied, watching the delicate thing.

Her brow lifted in the way it usually does before giving a lecture. “Of course, I believe in fate. The goddess is well documented, though she’s fallen out of worship these past centuries. What you should be asking is whether this parlor trick has anything to do with her.” She paused, dry humor just brushing the edge of her voice. “To which, the implication is laughable.”

Dent tilted his head, but remained expressionless. “Uh-Huh… You're hilarious. So what then? We just wait?”

“Until it reacts,” Eshlyn confirmed, her blossom balanced delicately on her palm, steady as glass.

For a moment, nothing happened. Just the muffled sound of a lute in the distance, the glow of lanterns, the cool stretch of twilight sinking deeper into the cobblestone streets.

Then Eshlyn’s flower began to stir.

Petals unfolded in a deliberate elegance, like clockwork unraveling, each layer exact and serene. It bloomed in perfect, symmetrical lines, each thin layer unfurling to reveal a silvery hue shot through with faint gold, graceful and controlled. A flower that looked exactly as poised as she did.

Dent whistled low. “Of course yours would bloom like it’s been studying etiquette.”

Eshlyn’s mouth twitched at the corners. “It’s just a trick,” she said, but her fingers cradled the blossom a little more carefully now.

His head shook with a grin before he continued glancing down at his own.

Nothing.

He frowned and gave it a little shake like it was jammed. Then, slowly, the blossom began to move, but not with the clean elegance Eshlyn’s had. It shivered as if cold, petals unfurling unevenly, one catching on the next, tearing slightly at the crease. When it finally opened, the color was pale, almost bleached, a sickly shade of bone-white with faint, curling edges browned like dried parchment.

Dent chuckled low, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hu… care to trade?”

I wanted to laugh, but instead, I swallowed, a weird twist settling in my gut after witnessing the contrasting outcomes. Like a disastrous fate had somehow been sealed the moment I picked it up. “Figures. Only druid I know who could kill a flower just by looking at it.” I tried to joke, but it came out thinner than intended.

“Could be worse. At least it didn’t burst into flames.” Dent tucked the blossom into his breast pocket, patting it like a talisman against further bad luck.

My breath held as the paper began to shift between my fingers. Petals flared outward in a slow, radiant bloom, impossibly bright against the night. Deep green edged in a glinting silver, then curling again into indigo and soft gold, shifting through colors like the paper couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. The flower glowed faintly, not just reflecting the lantern light, but casting its own halo, shimmering with an unsteady, living pulse.

Eshlyn’s breath caught in conjunction with my own. Dent just stared in bewilderment. Eyes wide.

I resisted the urge to close my hand around it. To hide it. But I didn’t move till it was finished, easily double the size of Eshlyn’s and distractingly bright.

“Well,” Dent said finally, voice oddly soft. “Consider me intrigued.”

Eshlyn said nothing at first, her eyes sharpening as she watched the bloom like she was waiting for it to misbehave. Only after a breath did her shoulders ease, her mouth twitching like she was holding back a thousand sharp comments before finally offering, “Perhaps it was worth a coin after all.”

I almost laughed, picking my jaw up off the floor. Instead, I plucked the flower free, its glow spilling across my fingers, and turned toward Eshlyn.

The low glow lit her face, reflecting against the undertones of blue in a beautiful arc that caused me to fumble a little, nearly dropping the flower before catching it again. Eshlyn just watched me, brow arched in quiet amusement.

“Here?” I asked, and before I could second-guess myself, I tucked it behind her ear. The soft glow of the bloom haloing her violet hair like it was made to be there. I tried for nonchalance, but the earlier fumble sealed my fate.

She gave me a long look, smiling low, then, to my surprise, plucked her own blossom free. “May I?”

I blinked, too stunned to do anything but nod. She stepped in close, close enough for me to admire the bright green in her eyes as she carefully tucked the elegant flower behind my ear.

“There,” she said, low and pleased. “Now we’re even.”

Dent made a sound that might’ve been a gag, but I didn’t look at him. Eshlyn’s fingers brushed my cheek, deliberate, lingering for just a second before she pulled back.

I shoved my hands in my dress pockets, trying not to blush or look too pleased with myself.

Totally worth it.

---

                                                                                 ...

 

The closer we got to the square, the thicker the crowd became. Children darted between legs, hands sticky with honeyed fruit. Glowstones floated in clusters just above the press of people, dyeing the air in soft, shifting light. Every few steps, we passed what felt like shrines built right onto the street, folded paper cranes, lanterns, candles, and polished stones stacked in delicate towers.

I had just started scanning the gathering crowd before Dent veered hard left, dragging me by the wrist like a kid spotting candy.

“C’mon, c’mon, we gotta try this one,” he said, nodding toward a small booth nestled between two statues. A rickety wooden sign hung over it, reading ‘Knife’s Edge’ in flaking paint. Beneath it, a table lined with dull daggers, each marked with strange symbols and runes I didn’t recognize.

A translucent woman in a moth-eaten shawl presided over it, arms crossed, bored expression barely flickering, like someone had forced her to work instead of letting her dance the night away. She waved one hand at the stand like she couldn’t care less if we played or not.

“Let me guess,” I said, eyeing the setup. “Throw knives at the hanging crystals, shatter enough of them, win a prize?”

Dent grinned, staring down at Eshlyn before turning back toward the stall. “No casting allowed. Pure skill.”

“Perhaps we should inspect the crystals first. Make sure they’re actually breakable,” Eshlyn said lightly, hanging back a few paces, her arm still linked with mine.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s a scam tonight,” Dent waved her off, tossing a silver toward the bored woman and scooping up a cup containing five knives.

I crossed my arms. “How about this? If you lose, you owe me a pastry.”

“Alright… but if I win,” he countered, “you owe me a dance.”

That got a real laugh out of me, short, surprised. “In your dreams.”

“Yours too, I bet,” he shot back without missing a beat. “Deal?”

“Fine. Have at it.” I said, smiling for real this time.

I practically snorted as Dent grabbed the first knife, spinning it in his hand with a flourish that might’ve been impressive if he weren’t trying so hard. With near-perfect form, he flipped the knife once and hurled it toward the target, a narrow wooden post strung with five glass orbs, each dangling from thin, delicate threads.

The knife veered slightly off course. Instead of hitting a string or an orb, it thunked into the wooden frame with a dull thwack.

“At least it stayed in the wood,” Eshlyn teased as he lined up the next shot.

Dent sighed. “Wind caught it.”

That's when I gave him a slow, patronizing nod. “Sure it did.” Then leaned in, whispering into Eshlyn’s ear, “This will be two pastries he owes me now.”

The next knife clipped the edge of a glass orb, sending it swaying wildly but stubbornly unbroken.

“Better,” I muttered with a tinge of sympathy.

The third knife hit a string, slicing clean through it, but instead of the orb shattering, it dropped softly into a padded basket below, perfectly intact. Dent cursed under his breath.

“Sorry, Dent. Pretty sure they have to break to count,” Eshlyn quipped before I chimed in, “And you have to hit three out of five to win, so it’s safe to say this contest is over.”

Dent stopped grumbling to give me a dramatic bow. “Ah damn, well… A gentleman loses with style. Care to throw the last two?”

I shook my head, amused, then reached for the remaining daggers. “Looks tough, but I’ll try copying your form.”

Dent stepped back, handing them over with a grin. “Good luck!”

“Woohoo! Remy! Show them how it’s done!” Eshlyn called, her voice lifting with a rare smile, like she was my personal cheerleader.

I rolled the two knives in my palms, feeling their balance. They were lighter than what I was used to, not that I was supposed to be used to anything, but throwing knives into random things was one of the few pastimes I’d had growing up.

“Let’s see if luck’s feeling generous tonight,” I said, mostly to the small crowd that had gathered thanks to Dent’s earlier antics. Then, smooth and easy, I flicked both wrists at once, sending two knives cutting through the air in a blur.

A second later, they struck. Two sharp cracks as the glass orbs shattered almost simultaneously, raining glittering shards into the padded basket below.

I couldn’t help but look back at the small crowd, coupled with Dent, who was now staring, open-mouthed. Eshlyn just blinked, eyes wide, raised in unhidden surprise.

“Ok no, you've definitely done this before.” Dent stated, voice full of suspicion.

I shrugged, tossing him a lazy grin. “Oh… maybe just a few times.”

Eshlyn shook her head, a real smile breaking through her usual calm. “We should enter you in a competition.”

“Well, you know I’d do anything for an apple pastry,” I joked, brushing past Dent with a light pat on his shoulder.

Behind the booth, the moth-shawl woman gave me a slow, almost imperceptible nod before replacing the shattered orbs.

“Worth every coin,” Dent said, throwing an arm loosely around my shoulders in a quick side-hug. “I’ll go grab your reward.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the game, the laugh, or just dragging me along for whatever nonsense he could find. Either way, I was glad he did.

---

                                                                                 ...

 

We moved on, drifting deeper into the heart of the festival. The music picked up around us, faster, lighter, flutes and strings threading between buildings like wild ivy. Dancers spun in loose circles across open courtyards, skirts and jackets flaring in bright blurs.

I caught glimpses of people scribbling on slips of paper, folding them neat and small, tucking them into lanterns waiting to be lit.

“See that?” Dent nodded toward a crooked stand just before the entrance to the main square, bowls of pale parchment squares stacked beside crates of folded lanterns. “Told you they were being handed out.”

“They are,” Eshlyn said, her voice softer, almost reverent. “Traditionally, you’d write the name of a lost loved one, or something to let go of.”

“Sure,” Dent said, smirking like he’d found a loophole in the fine print. “But maybe it’s good luck if I let one sail off with my blossom.”

The square held the height of tonight’s festivities, a wide-open plaza, the usual reflective fountain now fitted with a raised platform where a band of spirits played. Living and dead alike crowded the corners, clutching their scraps of paper, waiting to light their lanterns and watch them rise, like small funeral fires drifting into the night.

A few steps ahead, Eshlyn turned back to me, hand tightening gently on my arm. “Come on,” she pulled. “Let’s light one.”

The festival’s hum softened around us as we approached the stand together. Eshlyn let go of my arm only to reach for a lantern, her fingers careful on the delicate frame. She selected a second and handed it to me, followed by a piece of thin square parchment that crinkled under my fingertips, like it could float away if I didn’t hold on tight enough.

Eshlyn didn’t say anything, just pulled me along to a nearby bench. I liked that about her, the way she let me settle into her quiet grace without demanding anything in return.

Gods, she deserves so much better than me.

I stared down at the slip of paper, quill hovering uselessly.

What should I even write?

Someone to mourn. Something to give up. A burden to let go of…

I guess I could put something real.

The shopkeeper, Xolob. They deserve a memorial. Maybe a tribute to years spent running, stealing, scraping by. The ways I’d stopped wishing for more because it always hurt when it didn’t come true. The times when Eshlyn’s hand on my arm felt shamefully safe. The trepidation at having even the slightest of vulnerable conversations with Val. I could write my name. Maybe that would make sense, in some twisted way.

I could write guilt. Or failure. But none of it felt right. None of it felt like enough.

Finally, I pressed the quill down harder than necessary and scrawled two simple words:

The Past.

Just… all of it.

That’s why I came to this floor anyway, to start anew. Maybe it's not too late to try again.

I blew gently to dry the ink and slid the paper into the slit near the lantern’s base. When I looked up, Eshlyn was watching me, not in the soft, patient way she usually would, but with something more tangible. Solid and real yet completely unreadable.

“What are you looking at?” I called to her, trying to sound more dramatic than nervous.

“Just you.” Her face lifted into a smile, soft and steady.

She turned away before I could lob another quip at her, crouching to scrawl something small and neat on her own parchment. I couldn’t see the words. She folded it quickly, tucking it inside her lantern with quiet certainty.

It wasn’t long before we knelt side by side, close enough that our shoulders brushed as we shielded our lanterns against the light breeze. A glowing warmth spread through them, and the paper sides caught the wind like a sail. A small flame sparked to life without warning, allowing a soft hue to rise through the thin frame in a way that cast Eshlyn’s profile in molten gold.

“Ready?” she nudged me, pushing her shoulder into mine.

I nudged back, playfully. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Neither of us let go immediately.

My arm brushed against hers, that breath of contact I didn’t want to pull away from, before I let the lantern slip from my grasp, lifting slowly, carefully into the air. Eshlyn’s followed a second later, the two of them rising together, climbing into the sky alongside hundreds of others like tiny stars set loose from the ground.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She was still looking up, a faint, unreadable smile ghosting across her lips. Her hand found mine, and without thinking, I laced our fingers together.

I’m not one for superstitions, but at that moment, I really did feel lighter.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, barely audible over the music drifting from the square.

Her gaze had me blushing. “So are you.”

“…I think so too…” Dent whispered from a few feet behind us, drawing a breathy laugh from both of us, realizing we had forgotten he was even there.

“Guess I shouldn’t ask what you all wrote?” I teased, just to break whatever strange, sweet tension remained.

“Nope,” Eshlyn answered lazily, still smiling.

“Don’t mind the sudden disappearance of my flower blossom. Totally unrelated.” Dent quipped, tossing his lantern up with far less ceremony.

“What happens to all of them anyway?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“They’ll float away until they reach their highest point,” Eshlyn said softly, “then dissipate into the aether. That’s what this whole celebration is about. Letting go. Moving on without pain.”

“A bit dreary,” Dent chimed in.

“Yeah. I suppose it is.” Eshlyn murmured.

A moment of silence passed before a voice rang out from the side.

“Hey, you.”

I turned, already biting down on the automatic grin tugging at my lips.

Val stood a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, dressed in dark clothes that highlighted his eyes and looked suspiciously like he had made an effort, even if he'd never admit it. The lantern light caught on the edges of his face, casting him in that same golden halo I’d seen on Eshlyn.

“You made it!” I almost yelled.

“What, finally decided to join the festivities?” Dent muttered, smirking as if he’d won a bet no one else had known they were making.

Val shrugged, eyes flicking between the three of us before settling, briefly, intentionally, on me. “Figured I could at least make an appearance. Maybe see if any of you knew how to dance.”

Dent laughed before giving me a wink. “Well, you’ll have to win a bet for that… unless Remy’s feeling generous.”

“Oh.. Generous isn’t exactly my specialty,” I teased, folding my arms but failing to hide the smile curling at my mouth. “But I’ll make an exception.”

Eshlyn glanced between us, something gentle but knowing in her gaze. She leaned in closer, squeezing my hand once before stepping back. “Go on,” she said softly. “I’m sure Dent can keep me entertained.”

“You can count on me. Won’t even know they’re gone,” Dent said, entirely too pleased.

I hesitated, just for a second, before turning back to Eshlyn and squeezing her hand, reluctant to let it go. Then I leaned in close enough that only she could hear.

“I won’t be long,” I said, softer than I meant to.

Her smile didn’t falter. “I know. Go have fun.”

Only then did I let go of her, the warmth of her grasp lingering longer than it should have. I caught her eye one last time and mouthed, thank you.

Val offered a hand toward me, fingers slightly crooked, like he was daring me to say no. “Shall we?” he asked, voice low and a little rough, casual, but not careless.

For once, the answer wasn’t complicated.

I placed my hand in his.

---

                                                                                 ...

 

He tugged me gently toward the center of the square, where couples spun and swayed in slow, elegant arcs. Their movements were simple but choreographed, a language I didn’t recognize. The music was soft but rhythmic, a weaving of flutes, strings, and drums that made my skin buzz with nerves I refused to show. The confident facade I’d teased Val with earlier, now threatened to bite me in the ass.

The second we stopped, Val’s hands found their places, one firm on my waist, the other guiding my hand up, steady and sure.

Of course, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Of course he did.

We started in step as I tried to copy the other dancers, following the lead he set. It worked, more or less, but the steps felt stiff, too formal, too careful, the opposite of how I usually covered for my lack of real know-how: emotion, momentum, instinct. The band played an easy beat, the kind you could move to a hundred different ways, and still, everyone was just drifting through the motions. Of course, my dumb luck didn’t hold out. I stumbled, catching myself against his shoulder with a muttered curse.

Val’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh but was too polite, or too smart, to risk it.

“I can tell you’ve done this before,” I muttered, trying to keep up by side-eyeing an adjacent couple.

“Unfortunately,” he murmured. “It’s required when you grow up around people who care about… status.”

“And here I thought you were raised by wolves.”

“You could say that,” He agreed smoothly. “Noble houses are just as feral.”

My footing ground to a quick halt, fueled by complete shock. “What?”

“...What?” He held on, pulling me through the gentle movements that I didn’t have to try for.

“There’s no way.” I stared. “There is no way you’re a noble.”

“No.” A guilty smirk creased his lips before falling into a shallow frown. “Not anymore anyway”

“Oh… Should I say sorry? I have no idea how that works.” I admitted quietly.

“Don’t worry about it… It's not important.”

I took the hint and let the conversation flow into just our movements.

That's when I felt the beat roll and glided into a spin. For a second, I let myself move with the pull of the music, the firm pressure of his palm, pretending it didn’t rattle me. It was almost easy, until it wasn’t. I missed a step, bumping into him harder this time.

“Your overconfident bluff really sold me this morning,” Val chuckled, his voice softer now, the tension bleeding out of it. “Now look who’s stepping on who.”

My eyes rolled in a way I made sure he could see. "Oh, shut up. It got you out here, didn’t it?"

“Sometimes I forget just how full of shit you can be.” His voice was laced with contempt. “Good thing, that's one of the many qualities I admire about you.”

“Aw, how sweet, you really know how to butter me up,” I said in a mocking, overdramatic tone.

He paused for a moment, grin crooked and slightly infuriating. “You know what… fuck the choreography.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“We’ll make our own.” He stepped back, still holding my hand, and the tight rhythm of the formal dance broke. I followed as he spun me out, the motion graceless but sure, then reeled me back in, not to face him, but to land against his chest, his arm looping around my waist, leaving me swaying in front of him.

Val pulled me closer the next time, enough that the heat between us felt deliberate, controlled.

“Better?” he asked, amusement ghosting the corners of his mouth. Breath closing in on my neck.

“Much.” I didn’t have to fake my growing smile.

I knew good dancing never came from being shy so I let myself sink into the rhythm, the sway of his hips, the lean of his shoulders. We moved like the crowd had thinned to smoke. Like the world had bent, just for a moment, quieter, smaller, peaceful. The pull of his arms was a gravity I didn’t want to fight, grounding me in the music, in him.

As one song drifted into the next, we didn’t talk for a few beats, just moved. I hoped he enjoyed the warmth like I did, the proximity I rarely got to embrace. But then Val’s voice cut through the space between us, low and almost careful, cooling the moment just enough to notice.

“So… you and Eshlyn?”

The words didn’t sting, but they did brush against something unsteady, something I wasn’t ready to name.

A quiet breath left my lips. “Yeah… We’re trying.”

“Trying?” Val echoed in question.

“Trying.” I nodded in confirmation, hoping my expression withstood the tinge of sadness that crept into my chest. “Doesn’t mean we’re succeeding.”

He spun me lazily, the motion tight but easy. When he reeled me back in, we were close enough that I could see the flecks of twilight in his otherwise blue eyes.

“That's too bad,” Val added, voice low and certain, “She’s cute. You look good together.”

I huffed a soft breath, tipping my head just enough to peer at him fully. “Hmm,” I mused, “Is that jealousy I’m sensing?”

His lips curved, slow and sly. “Only every time she looks at you like she’s picking out wedding colors.”

I didn’t miss a beat. “You know, you could just say you’re obsessed with me. Save us all the trouble.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Where's the fun in that?”

“Wouldn’t want things to get too easy, would we?” My smile came sharper now.

“No,” he murmured, a dangerous softness in the word. “Easy’s never really been our thing… but if it helps, I already know what the issue is between you and Eshlyn.”

My brows lifted, smirking. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then, wise one.”

“She’s way too patient for you,” he said, grin growing.

My head shook as I scoffed at the audacity. “And let me guess, your charm is the patience you don’t have, is that it?”

“Absolutely… Someone’s gotta keep you in check.” Val leaned in, his breath brushing the curve of my ear. “And luckily, I’ve got just the right amount of wrong when it comes to you.”

Butterflies stirred, low and hot, as I tilted into him without thinking. “Wrong in all the right ways, hmm?”

His hand tightened at my waist, subtle but certain. “You have no idea.”

I liked this side of Val. Not just the flirting necessarily, but the side that was willing to open up, even if only in prodding jokes.

We swayed a little slower, the world shrinking down to the beat and the heat between us. The silence settled, warm and easy, like a blanket I wasn’t ready to shake off.

I let myself linger there, maybe longer than I should have, before speaking again, half playful, half curious. “I must know, did you come all this way just for me?” I asked, “Or is there something you’re letting go of tonight?”

Val’s gaze held mine, steady, unreadable, before sliding away. “No. Nothing.”

The answer was too fast. Too final.

I shifted back instinctively, feeling the change before I could name it. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to pry.”

His hand pulled at my waist, subtle but grounding, like he wanted to reclaim the space between us. “No, it’s okay. I guess I just feel like… some things you can never let go of.”

I should have dropped it. Let the music carry us somewhere lighter. But this was Val, and I was done pretending our bruises didn’t matter. Pretending I didn’t care or didn’t want to know what was bothering him. So I offered something small and potentially stupid.

“Maybe we don’t have to let go of everything,” I said, barely louder than the music, “to move forward.”

He didn’t answer. Just shifted his hand, guiding me a little closer, like he needed something to hold onto.

The song wound down, the lute softening into its final notes, and we stood there a second longer than we needed to, not moving, not speaking. Val smiled, not soft, not easy, but something rougher. Real.

“Come on,” I said, stepping back but not letting go of his hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”

---

                                                                                 ...

 

Val kept hold of my hand as I led him through the thinning crowd, weaving toward the quiet edge of the square. He didn’t ask where we were going, just followed, boots scuffing on the worn cobblestones, the soft glow of the lanterns fading gently behind us.

We rounded a corner, slipping into a narrow alley that opened toward a stone wall, stacked crates, and a downspout running the full length of a tall building.

I jerked my chin up at it. “Hope you’re feeling limber.”

Val glanced from me to the wall, then back, one brow lifting in mild amusement. “Climbing in dress clothes. How Remy of you.”

I didn’t answer, just hitched my skirt up enough to reach the first foothold, boots finding purchase on the crate before pulling myself onto the lower rungs of the downspout.

Val shook his head in a chuckle. “Right behind ya, princess.”

The climb wasn’t long, but the metal was slick with condensation, the cool night air clinging to everything. I moved quickly, half from muscle memory, half from the excitement of finally showing someone my little hideout. Only when I reached the halfway point did I hear his voice, low and sharp below me.

“Nice set of daggers you got there.”

I snorted, glancing down to catch the way his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite innocent.

“Uh-huh. Try not to stare… or drool.” I muttered, pressing higher.

“Pure as a saint, I am,” he said, climbing after me cautiously. “Couldn’t help noticing you’re well-armed for a date.”

“Never know when you’ll have to stab someone.”

“Charming.”

I reached the top ledge and hauled myself up, rolling onto the clay shingles with a soft grunt. Val swung up after me, landing with more grace than I expected for someone in polished boots and a tailored shirt. He adjusted his sleeves with exaggerated care, obviously pretending the climb hadn’t winded him, but I knew better.

“You don’t climb much, do you?” I teased, brushing off my dress.

He gave me a slow, deliberate once-over, pausing at the daggers he now knew were strapped high on my thighs.

“I’m learning new things about you all the time.”

I shook my head and beckoned him forward. “Come on, not-a-noble boy. The view’s worth it.”

He followed without protest, footsteps light on the tiles, and together we picked our way across the rooftop, toward the spot I always went when the world below got too heavy.

---

                                                                                 ...

 

We crossed the rooftop tiles in near silence, the sounds of the festival dimming below us. The city spread out under us in a tangle of warm light and drifting lanterns, each one a tiny flicker against the dark like memories rising into the night sky.

I led him to the far edge where the clay shingles dipped low, settling into a little alcove I’d claimed months ago. A perfect overlook. A place where the noise and weight of everything could feel a little smaller. Then dropped down onto the raised ledge, legs hanging over the side. The height didn’t scare me. Not anymore.

Val hesitated before lowering himself beside me, boots scuffing the small portion before the roof flattens. His shoulder brushed mine as he adjusted into a close sitting position. He didn’t pull away. Neither did I.

For a long beat, we just sat, breathing in the stillness and cool air. The view here was always breathtaking, but tonight it was extraordinary. The moment felt right, so I let my head rest on his shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around me in a way that steadied us both.

The lanterns climbed higher, some so distant they looked like stars instead of paper and flame.

“I've never brought anyone here before,” I said, quieter than I meant to. “But this is where I come to get away from it all.”

“The view’s magnificent,” Val murmured.

“Yeah.” I let my gaze follow one of the higher lanterns. “I like it. It's quiet. Easier to pretend nothing below matters.” I paused before adding, “It can get a little windy, though.”

He huffed under his breath, not agreement, not disagreement. Just there. “Hard to believe I’m the first person seeing it. Makes me wonder what other secrets you’re hiding up here.”

“Like I’d ever tell you my secrets,” I teased, bumping my shoulder lightly against his.

He breathed out a subtle chuckle. “Got some worth keeping, huh?”

“Nah.” I shrugged, staring out past the edge of the roof. “You’ve probably figured them all out by now. Not exactly good at the whole ‘talking about things’ thing.”

Val’s mouth curved, almost a smile. “Yeah... neither am I.”

I could’ve left it alone. Let things stay safe. Easy. But tonight, pretending felt heavier than the truth, and this was the most open I’d felt in a while. So I took a breath, held it too long. Then: “Are you upset about Xolob?” I breathed out. “You know… about what I did?”

He was quiet, the pause long enough to thicken the air between us, before he shook his head.

“No,” he said plainly, voice low. “It sucked, but I get it now. I don’t blame you.”

Something loosened in my chest, like I’d been carrying a weight and finally tossed it over the edge.

He slouched back against the slope of the roof in a way that made him seem almost relaxed. “If anything… I’m mad at myself. For putting you in that position. For not being strong enough to hold my own. To keep up.”

“You were strong.” My voice caught, but I meant it. “You are. Honestly, I feel kinda invincible when you're around.”

He huffed a breath, bitter but not sharp. “We make a good team, but...” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Gods, Remy. We’re so bad for each other.”

I turned to look at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I would have done the same thing,” he admitted after a beat. “Call me selfish or cruel, but... I know I would have.”

I picked at a loose thread on my skirt, words tangling in my throat. Finally, I asked: “Does that make us bad people?”

Val’s mouth twisted into something quieter than a smile. “Maybe. Probably. But honestly?” He breathed out. “I don’t care anymore.” The cool wind curled between us, wafting the scent of paper smoke and incense up from the city below. “Doing the right thing never got me very far anyway.”

“Damn, Val.” I gave a small, rueful laugh. “Maybe we really are bad for each other.”

I paused, watching the lanterns climb higher, the glow thinning as they scattered into the stars. “For what it’s worth, I wanna try to start over. I know it doesn’t mean much, but... that’s what I wished for tonight.” I tipped my head back to the sky. “I wrote it all down, the guilt, the grief. Set it on fire. Let the lantern carry it far, far away… and I think I feel a little better. For now.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for that,” he said, voice softer. “I should have been. Should’ve joined you from the beginning. I wish I had.”

“If we’re being honest... I didn’t want to. Not because of you. I didn’t want to do anything.” He paused. “Sorry, but I hate everything about this festival. I hate the whole thing.”

His voice roughened again, dragging across the air. “I feel like shit for not telling you... It’s just...”

He sat still, watching the lanterns. Another floated close enough for me to see the folded paper tucked inside.

“I don’t want remembrance. Or celebration. Everyone talks about moving on like it’s supposed to make you lighter. Like if you forgive and forget, the hurt stops hurting.” His lips twisted. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to let go.”

The honesty in it hit low and solid in my chest.

“This isn't about Xolob, is it?” I said, careful.

His gaze steadied towards the horizon, unreadable. “No… It’s not”

A breath of a laugh escaped him, small, but real.

We sat there, the city breathing below us, the night wrapping around our shoulders. I didn’t think about it. I just moved, shifting my hand until it brushed lightly against his knuckles. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

He didn’t pull away.

I could feel his gaze shift over to me, but I didn’t want to push. So I turned only slightly. Just enough to steady my hand over his.

Slowly, carefully, his palm turned, fingers lacing with mine. “I’m glad I came.”

My chest tightened not in fear this time, but something quieter. Warmer. Then his free hand found my chin, tipping it up, and when I looked, his eyes were already waiting, steady and unflinching.

Neither of us said anything.

Neither of us had to.

Val leaned in, slow enough that I could have stopped him, could have pulled back, made some joke, broken the moment like I always did… but I didn’t.

Our foreheads met in a soft brush, then his lips grazed mine, certain but lingering in question. I leaned in, letting the weight of the last few weeks, the fear, the grief, the wanting, melt into the heat building between us.

I kissed him like all my questions had been answered. Like nothing mattered beyond the press of his lips and the tug of his hands in mine.

Eventually, we pulled apart, just barely, but enough to set my heart ablaze when he didn’t move away. His breath ran warm against my skin, and for a moment, we just lingered. Want palpable, but eyes tentative. Neither of us ready to let the moment go.

I don’t know who moved first, but I felt his palm lying warm on my thigh, and I reached for him. Every contact hummed in sensation as my eyes closed and his lips met mine again. Pressing through the veil of darkness. Deeper. Surer.

I eased back, but he chased, catching me by the waist, pulling me in like there was no room for regret. So I learned in again, and again. Till our position on the roof's edge became a question too dangerous to ignore.

When we finally parted, the space between us buzzed with danger, like we were balancing on a tightrope, daring each other to jump.

“We’re not good for each other,” he whispered, voice low and certain.

“No,” I breathed, “we’re not.”

His hand cradled my cheek, thumb brushing just below my lip.

“We should know better,” he said, softer this time.

“Yeah.” I tilted into his palm. “Probably.”

A beat of stillness. His forehead rested lightly against mine.

“Tell me to stop.”

I smiled against him, the easiest answer in the world.

“Not a chance.”