The apartment was quiet, like creepily quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you wonder if you're the last person left in the world, or if you just missed the memo about the apocalypse.
Niah was curled up on the old couch, knees hugged to her chest, a mug of tea sitting untouched on the table. The tea had gone cold ages ago, but she didn't care.
Golden sunlight slipped through the curtains, slowly fading into that soft, dusky glow that makes everything look like it's dipped in honey. She hadn't bothered with the lights. Why ruin the mood? The city outside hummed along, filling in the gaps left by the storm raging inside her head.
Her thoughts were a mess, swirling and tangled, impossible to pin down. Faces flashed behind her eyes: a woman who looked just like her, but whose name she couldn't place. Memories that didn't feel like hers, which were heavy and strange. Zaire's steady, grounding presence. Dusken's over-the-top affection. Dr Thorne's quiet, knowing smiles.
And then there was Esme.
That name echoed through her bones, haunting and familiar, like a song you almost remember but can't quite sing. Too close to ignore, too strange to claim.
She caught her reflection in the window, her own face, but now there was another version of herself lurking in her memory, which was taller, sharper, and more elegant in a way that felt completely alien. How could that be her, too? It made no sense.
Suddenly, a loud bang shattered the silence. Niah jumped, heart in her throat.
The door flew open and in stormed Jules, a whirlwind of wild hair and righteous fury, bags slung over her shoulders like she'd just survived a natural disaster.
"I need to speak to the manager of the universe as soon as possible," Jules announced, voice booming with indignation. "I have encountered a creature of pure, arrogant chaos in the marketplace, and I demand justice."
She didn't even pause for breath before launching into her rant. "You will not believe the absolute trash fire of a man I ran into today!" Jules dumped her bags with dramatic flair and flopped onto the couch like a tragic heroine.
Niah blinked, trying to keep up. "Uh… hello to you, too?"
"No, no, don't even try to greet me," Jules huffed, throwing an arm over her eyes like she was auditioning for a melodrama. "Not when I am in mourning for the last sliver of sanity I have. He was very infuriating. Arrogant, smug, dressed like he'd just stepped out of some overpriced fantasy drama, and you know what Niah, that scumbag insulted my taste in tomatoes. How dare he!!!"
Niah couldn't help it, a laugh threatened to escape. "Tomatoes?"
"Please. Don't start." Jules shot her a look, finger raised in warning. "I was picking out heirloom tomatoes—you know, the cute, rustic ones, and he just strolls up and says, 'Terrible taste in produce.' Like WHO EVEN TALKS LIKE THAT?"
Niah froze.
The words, the attitude, the dramatic disdain, it all sounded way too familiar for her liking. She knew someone who talked exactly like that. And that was.
Sylen.
She watched as Jules paced the room, ranting about the "long-haired menace with a vocabulary stolen from a villain monologue." Every new detail made Niah's suspicion grow, but she kept her mouth shut and just listened to Jules rant.
"What did he look like?" Niah asked, trying to sound casual as she sipped her now-icy tea.
Jules rolled her eyes. "He was Tall. Ridiculously handsome in a 'fallen angel with an attitude problem' kind of way. Honestly, he looked like he lost a poetry slam and took it personally."
Niah nearly choked on her tea. Oh, there was no doubt now. That was Sylen. But she wasn't about to spill the beans, not yet.
Instead, she just smiled, letting Jules vent about her ruined market day, soaking in every dramatic detail. She didn't have the heart to tell her that the "absolute trash fire" she'd met was probably one of their own. And that reveal could wait.
Besides, the look on Sylen's face when he found out the truth? That was going to be priceless.
And Niah was definitely going to enjoy the front-row seat.
* * *