The room smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. Curtains half-drawn let in a soft, drowsy light that pooled over Zoe's bed, stretching across the floor like quiet fingers. Cecilia sat cross-legged on the edge, her voice calm, measured, carrying weight beyond her words.
"...and Harrick—well, he was rude, yes, but he always protected me," Cecilia said softly, eyes glinting with something unspoken. Zoe didn't answer, letting her gaze drift to the ceiling, listening. She didn't need to defend Harrick; he was gone, and that settled everything.
"My father," Cecilia continued, "was... complicated. Stern, unyielding. Expected perfection. Sometimes I think he forgot how to see people. My father wanted big brother stronger—but those Monsters..." She blinked, shifting her hands in her lap before continuing. "My mother... she didn't soften it. Strong presence. You'd know it the moment she entered a room."
Zoe tilted her head, half-smiling, half-wincing. "Wait. In your whole family... such tough people. You're just reminding me of one family. You know... Reginald. Reginald... mhm. Pretty egoistic bunch, from what I remember."
Cecilia's eyes flickered, faintly amused. "Reginald? How do you know that?" She leaned back slightly. "We were Reginald too, once. But... later, we changed our surname."
Zoe blinked, the air catching in her throat. "Uh... maybe I read somewhere." Her brow furrowed. "Wait... headaches... hires... help... how did I even get in this..."
Cecilia only nodded once, acknowledging the storm of thoughts without touching it. Then she asked, "You didn't tell me anything about yourself either. You're... different. In your house, I didn't see anyone—other than your friend. That little girl... is she your cousin?"
Zoe blinked, "Cousin? Wait, nope... oh, yeah. Yeah. Cousin."
Cecilia tilted her head, curious. "And your parents? People called you 'ancestor.' I thought that meant some old man or woman. But it seems you're really their scion. Can you tell me how they established themselves?"
Zoe thought for a moment. "Mhm... maybe they got money from their brother. Just wanted a fresh start."
Cecilia's gaze softened. "And precautions? I heard scions often have something worse waiting. Is this... because of things we ignored?"
Zoe shrugged slightly. "Uh... about that. Yeah. Something unexpected's waiting for us. It's gonna cost us, a lot. I just wanted to stop it. Nothing more."
Cecilia tilted her head. "How do you know? Can you... see the future?"
"Absolutely not," Zoe said, leaning back. "But I want to do my best. I've spent my life preparing. I wanted my academy to be the best I could make it—so I can help when needed. Don't you trust me?"
Cecilia blinked, then nodded. "Yes, I do."
Zoe's lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you."
"No need," Cecilia said gently. "You're so generous. No wonder Anaia and the others get comfy with you. Thank you."
Zoe's cheeks flushed. "Mm, mm."
"What happened?" Cecilia asked, eyes soft.
Zoe pinched her nose, yawned, rubbing at her eyes. "I feel... sleepy."
"For a day," Cecilia murmured, closing her eyes in a small, prayer-like gesture, "it would be enough. Though you're still mysterious to me."
Zoe watched her for a moment, Cecilia's chest rising and falling in calm rhythm. Slowly, inevitably, the room became still.
"Hey," Zoe said after a pause, "today's my day to sleep on the bed."
Cecilia didn't answer. Zoe prodded, pointing with her finger. Cecilia only twitched her lips into the faintest acknowledgment and shifted slightly inward.
Zoe's lips curved downward, a hint of sulk in her expression. She sighed, tossing the blanket aside, and moved toward the couch. Curling into herself, she muttered, "Fine. But tomorrow... tomorrow it's mine."
The room exhaled with them both, quiet and heavy with histories unspoken, settling like ash in the soft, drowsy light.
---
The morning sunlight filtered through the academy's tall windows, golden and lazy. Zoe adjusted her blazer in the mirror one last time, hands steady despite the faint flutter in her chest. Today wasn't just another day—it was her own ground now. Prepared, intentional. Owner of her space, even if only in her mind.
She glanced at the door, then back at her reflection. Hair in place. Badge catching the light. She wouldn't be underestimated. Not Ellie. Not anyone.
Stepping into the hall, she nearly collided with Ellie, who blocked the corridor with arms crossed, shifting slightly on her feet. "Zoe, where'd you—uh—get lost?" Ellie's voice was tentative, edged with awkward worry. "Don't you know it's our club's important meeting? You can't just—"
"Ugh..." Zoe interrupted, calm, precise. "But I had... other things to handle." She gestured vaguely, letting the words hang. Enough for explanation, not apology.
Ellie hesitated, biting her lip, unsure whether to insist. "Oh... okay, I guess... but I—well, I thought maybe I'd... explain everything?" Her gaze flicked to the floor, then up again, uncertain if Zoe would care.
Zoe smiled faintly, letting the corner of her mouth twitch. "I said I'll catch up. No harm done, right?"
Before Ellie could respond, Anaia appeared, gliding quietly through the hallway, expression neutral, eyes assessing. "Zoe," she said, voice soft but firm, "everything alright?"
Ellie glanced between them, shrinking slightly. Anaia's gaze lingered on Zoe, unreadable—acknowledgment passing silently between them.
"I'm fine," Zoe replied, clipped and deliberate, "just handling... responsibilities." Her gaze flicked to Ellie, who now shifted, unsure, curiosity and irritation warring on her face.
Ellie's expression softened, hesitantly. "Um... maybe you could come with us?" She gestured toward the meeting room. "Anaia, are you joining? You know... you're pretty popular."
Anaia tilted her head, a subtle smile brushing her lips. "I... see." She followed, but her eyes lingered on Zoe, evaluating, curious, weighing. Zoe noticed it, filing it away. Influence, not popularity—she had that, on her terms.
Zoe's smirk didn't fade. "I'll consider it," she said lightly, giving Anaia a subtle nudge forward. "After you."
"Hey—excuse me?" Anaia's voice carried soft amusement, half-surprise, half-indignation.
Ellie blinked, unsure whether to intervene, but Zoe ignored the slight tension. Instead, she tilted her head, thinking ahead. Plans, timing, positioning... not everyone knows the game yet.
"I'll catch up," Zoe said to Ellie, turning toward the office. "Don't worry. I'll send Noah."
Anaia called after her, voice curious, but Zoe was already striding forward, measured, deliberate.
Arriving at the office, Zoe expected Ma'am Kate—but the seat at the head was empty. A substitute teacher stood instead, papers in hand, offering a polite smile.
"Excuse me... where's Ma'am Kate?" Zoe asked, soft but firm.
"Ma'am Kate is on leave," the substitute replied, serene and neutral.
Zoe's lips curved into a small, appreciative nod. "Thank you." No fuss, no lingering thought—just acknowledgement.
Anaia tilted her head, curious. Zoe allowed herself a faint shrug. "Plans change," she said, voice low, almost to herself. Good. New variables. I can work with this.
The subtle energy in the hall shifted—quiet, taut, like the moment before a bell rings. Zoe noted every reaction, every hesitation. Influence, awareness, presence—today, she owned it all, even if only quietly.
---
The hallway smelled faintly of polished wood and early morning dust. Zoe walked at an unhurried pace, hands tucked into her pockets, as Anaia fell into step beside her—expression tight, a little sulked, but not truly upset. Ellie followed a step behind, pretending to check her phone, listening more than she meant to.
"Finally caught you," Anaia said, a small pout tugging at her lips. "You've been... dodging all morning."
Zoe tilted her head, one corner of her mouth lifting in quiet amusement. "I've been busy," she said lightly, letting the word stay vague on purpose.
Anaia narrowed her eyes, then huffed softly, guiding Zoe down a quieter corridor without quite admitting she was doing it. "So... I guess we're officially trapping you now," she added, half-teasing. "No escaping this time."
Zoe laughed under her breath, low and smooth. "Trapped? I wouldn't say that," she replied. "Just... politely contained."
Ellie slowed another step, gaze flicking between them. She didn't interrupt—but she noticed everything.
Anaia leaned a little closer, her voice dropping—not accusatory, just curious. "Hey... what about Cecilia? Is she okay now?"
Zoe's expression shifted, only slightly. She nodded once. "She is. Maybe you should take her home soon." A pause. "Her mum's probably worried."
Anaia's shoulders loosened at that. "Yeah... yep," she said, exhaling. "She hates worrying her mum." A softer look crossed her face. "She's been through enough."
Zoe hummed in agreement, already slowing her steps. "I'll see you again," she said easily. "There are things I need to finish."
Anaia nodded, stepping back toward the main hall. "I've got class anyway. See you later."
Ellie offered a small, awkward wave, eyes lingering on Zoe a beat longer than necessary.
Zoe continued on alone, her pace unchanged—unhurried, intentional. Light spilled through the tall windows, catching the edge of her badge and threading through her hair. For a moment, the academy felt smaller. Quieter.
Just enough for Zoe to own it.
---
The house was smaller than the academy made her seem.
Zoe noticed that first.
Not poor. Not neglected. Just... contained. The kind of place where every object had learned where it belonged because space didn't allow for indecision. Morning light slipped through lace curtains, dust floating slow as thought. Somewhere deeper inside, a kettle clicked softly—impatient, but polite.
Kate's mother moved carefully, like someone used to listening for another person's breathing even when the room was empty.
"You don't have to—" she began, startled when she noticed Zoe standing at the doorway.
"It's fine," Zoe said, already reaching for the cups. Not a smile. Not cold either. Just certainty. "You should sit."
The older woman hesitated. People always did. Then she sat anyway, hands folding into her lap as if relieved to be told what to do for once.
Zoe poured the tea. Measured. No rush.
Her eyes took in details without lingering—the medicine lined neatly near the sink, the window cracked just enough for air but not cold, the chair positioned close to the bed. Someone here planned for consequences.
"She hates being late," Kate's mother said softly, almost apologetic. "Even when she's sick. She sets alarms... midnight, morning. Maybe that's why she didn't wake properly."
Zoe glanced toward the closed bedroom door.
"She won't be late," she said.
Not a promise.
A decision.
They didn't speak much after that.
Zoe wiped the counter. Adjusted the curtain when the sunlight sharpened. Sat when there was nothing left to fix. She didn't ask questions. Didn't offer reassurance. Her presence wasn't loud enough to demand gratitude.
That was the point.
Time passed—quietly.
Then footsteps. Uneven. A sharp intake of breath.
"Oh—no—" Kate's voice, hoarse with sleep and panic. "I'm late—"
She stopped short when she saw Zoe.
The pause stretched.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"...Scion," Kate said carefully.
The word landed awkwardly, like something she'd only ever heard whispered. The rumors never agreed—ancestor, owner, ghost, benefactor. None of them ever came with a face.
Kate's fingers tightened unconsciously in the sleeve of her cardigan.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Zoe stood smoothly. Unhurried. "Your mother said you were unwell."
Kate's eyes flicked to her mother, who was suddenly very invested in her tea.
"I—I'm sorry," Kate said quickly. "The briefing—I'll prepare it right now—"
"It can wait," Zoe said, gently cutting through the panic. "You haven't missed anything that can't wait a day."
That—more than authority—froze her.
"You can brief me next time," Zoe continued, calm and even, as if time itself bent around the decision.
Kate swallowed. "...You came all this way just to—?"
Zoe didn't answer.
Instead, she reached for her coat. "Rest today," she said. "The academy doesn't collapse in one morning."
Kate watched her like someone trying to memorize a shape before it vanished.
"...Thank you," she said, unsure who the words were meant for—the woman, the title, or the silence she left behind.
Zoe paused at the door.
Not long enough to invite questions. Just long enough to be human.
"Take care of her," she said. After a beat, softer—but no less certain:
"Time is less forgiving than people think."
Then she was gone.
Outside, the street continued as if nothing remarkable had happened.
Inside, Kate sank slowly into a chair, heart still racing—not from illness, but from something far more unsettling.
Trust.
Not demanded.
Not explained.
Given.
And somehow, that frightened her more than any authority ever had.
---
She was moving when it happened.
Zoe always was.
The street had changed names twice since then, but the angle of the light was the same—late afternoon, dust hanging in the air like it hadn't decided where to settle. Her steps slowed without her permission. An old memory flickered.
A voice surfaced.
"You're new to this place, right?"
An old woman, back then. Hair tied neatly, hands folded with the patience of someone who had learned how to wait for life instead of chasing it.
Zoe had nodded.
"Yes," she'd said. "I am. Thank you... for giving me time to understand this place."
She hadn't known what she was asking for. Only that time was the one thing she couldn't steal.
Nearby, a little girl had been playing—too loud, too alive. Nevara had been there too, standing apart like she always did: distant, watchful, prepared to leave before being asked.
The girl had tugged at her sleeve.
And Nevara—against habit—had smiled.
That had been the beginning.
Zoe remembered the weight of the money then. Asher's money. Not comfort—leverage. Not safety—possibility. She hadn't wanted to live well. She'd wanted something that could keep standing when she couldn't.
If I build something...
Something that didn't need her face.
Apex had been nothing more than a thought then. Fragile. Uncertain. But it had settled into her bones the way mountains do—slowly, without asking permission. A structure. A continuation.
Another night followed.
Crying—thin, relentless—cut through walls and sleep.
The girl's father was gone.
The mother vanished under debt and exhaustion.
Zoe had stood in the hallway listening, understanding something she wouldn't have words for until much later.
Systems had once caught her when she fell.
This was how they kept existing.
Choosing someone meant choosing their ending too.
Years eroded quietly.
The girl grew.
Zoe helped where she could—not as a savior, not as family, but as something stable.
The world shifted.
Zoe didn't.
Then came white walls. The smell of disinfectant. A hospital room that felt far too small for how much life had been spent inside it.
The girl—no, the old woman now—smiled weakly.
"Aunt," she said, voice thin but amused. "You really didn't change in all these years."
Zoe's hands stilled.
She almost answered.
Almost explained.
Almost apologized.
Instead, she listened.
"...Aren't you really my fairy?" the woman asked, eyes half-closed. "The one who helped me when everything went bad—after my mumma and daddy?"
The word pressed against Zoe's chest.
Fairy.
She breathed in.
Held it.
Said nothing.
The old woman smiled anyway.
"I thought so," she whispered. "Goodbye."
The memory loosened its grip.
Zoe found herself back in the present, the street humming with a life that did not know her name.
If Noah and Nevara hadn't stayed—if they hadn't been different—she wasn't sure she would have survived this long either.
Ma'am Kate crossed her mind then. Precise. Dedicated. The kind of person who believed in schedules and responsibility. Temporary, whether either of them liked it or not.
Time was a fleeting thing.
Zoe had learned that early.
That was why she chose carefully.
And why she never stayed long enough to be remembered.
---
The academy was already empty when Zoe returned.
Not abandoned—just finished with her.
Doors thudded shut somewhere in the distance. Footsteps echoed once, then dissolved. The kind of quiet that came after routine, when a place no longer expected anything from you.
Zoe stopped mid-corridor and stretched lightly, arms lifting, shoulders rolling as if easing out a stiffness no one else could see.
Not fatigue.
Accumulation.
Light slanted through the high windows, catching dust in motion. For a moment, it reminded her of other halls. Other centuries. Other exits she hadn't taken in time.
She exhaled.
Too quiet.
Her phone vibrated.
Once.
She didn't rush.
Then again.
Zoe tilted her head, considering the sound the way one considers weather. Finally, she answered.
"Noah," she said, calm as still water.
A pause.
Not silence.
Restraint.
"...We have a situation," Noah replied.
Not panicked. Not loud. But his voice carried that tight edge—like metal bent just short of breaking.
Zoe's eyes closed halfway. "Define."
Another pause. Shorter.
"Nevara and Cecilia," he said. "A disagreement escalated. Anaia attempted to mediate. Emotional variables multiplied instead."
Zoe smiled faintly. "That sounds... inefficient."
"I am aware," Noah said flatly. "Anaia's presence is destabilizing Nevara's control threshold. Cecilia is responding defensively. Neither of them is listening."
"And you?" Zoe asked.
A measured breath.
"I attempted separation," Noah said. "I was... bitten away."
Zoe opened her eyes.
"...Literally," he added, irritation slipping through. "Cecilia. Reflex."
There it was.
Human mess.
Teeth and tears and history.
Zoe leaned back against the wall, cool stone pressing into her spine. Somewhere down the corridor, a light flickered—old wiring, old habits.
"And?" she prompted gently.
"And I am losing," Noah admitted. No shame. Just fact. "Not physically. Contextually. I cannot follow their logic."
Of course he couldn't.
Nevara's silence was sharpened by years of avoidance.
Anaia fractured fastest when she felt judged.
Cecilia—grief still raw, love still loud—was the worst possible fulcrum.
Zoe saw it all without seeing it.
Three people hurting in incompatible ways.
One otherworldly mediator armed with logic and no leverage.
"I told them to stop," Noah continued. "That method was ineffective."
Zoe's lips curved—not amused.
Knowing.
"Stay where you are," she said.
A pause.
"...You're coming back? Quickly, I assume," Noah said.
Zoe pushed off the wall and turned, her steps already changing direction. The academy seemed to shift with her—the air tightening, the silence paying attention.
"I'll handle it," she replied lightly. "I was just... elsewhere."
She ended the call.
As she walked, the corridors no longer felt empty. They felt like a held breath, waiting to see whether she would intervene—or let the fracture widen.
Zoe adjusted her sleeves.
Some conflicts needed time.
Others needed her.
And this one—
This one had teeth.
---
The room was quiet when Zoe arrived.
Not calm.
Quiet like something had just finished breaking.
Noah stood near the center, sleeves pushed up, expression carefully neutral in the way only someone who had already failed could manage. Cecilia sat rigid on the edge of a table. Anaia leaned against the wall, arms crossed too tightly. Nevara was... not absent, but not present either—eyes lowered, attention folded inward.
Silence stretched.
Zoe stepped in and closed the door behind her.
Click.
She looked once. That was all.
Then—
"From your faces, let me guess," Zoe said evenly. "Cecilia thinks Anaia took Nevara's side."
A breath.
"Anaia thinks Cecilia's grief is being weaponized."
Another.
"And Nevara thinks you'd both be happier if she disappeared from the equation."
The air snapped.
Noah's mouth opened.
"...I—" He stopped. Blinked. "...I could have done that too."
Zoe glanced at him. "You could have said it. Not seen it."
Noah huffed. "Wow. Brutal."
"Accurate," she replied.
He sulked immediately, folding his arms. "Next time I'll just outsource emotional labor to you. You're good in this mess."
Zoe reached into the bag she'd been carrying and pulled out several ice?cream cups.
Noah froze.
"...Is that for—"
"One," Zoe said, handing him a cup without looking. "For surviving. Distribute the rest equally."
He stared at it like it might vanish if he breathed wrong. "...You're bribing me."
"Yes."
"...It's working."
Behind him—
"Chocolate," Cecilia said instantly.
"Butterscotch," Anaia countered at the same time, already reaching. "You always take chocolate."
Their hands collided.
Silence returned.
Zoe's head turned.
Very slowly.
Both of them froze.
"...We're not fighting," Anaia said quickly.
"It's just preference," Cecilia added, just as fast.
Zoe stepped forward, took both cups in one smooth motion, and lifted them out of reach.
"No," she said calmly. "You were fighting. You're just disguising it as dessert philosophy."
They stared.
Nevara blinked. Once.
"If you want ice cream," Zoe continued, voice deceptively mild, "you stop pulling people to your side like trophies. No alliances. No scorekeeping."
A pause.
"...Or," she added, "none of you get any. Simple justice."
Cecilia's shoulders dropped first.
"...Fine," she muttered.
Then, quieter—
"Because you're saying it, Scion."
Zoe handed the cups back. Vanilla to Cecilia. Chocolate to Anaia.
Anaia sighed. "Fine. You're my friend—but right now you sound exactly like a grandma."
Zoe narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"
Nevara hesitated.
Zoe placed the last cup gently into her hands without comment.
The room exhaled.
Noah took a bite of his ice cream, watched the scene settle, then muttered, "...I hate how effective you are."
Zoe didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Some conflicts need time.
Some need truth.
And some—
Some just need someone who knows exactly when to take the ice cream away.
---
The window resisted for half a second before yielding.
Cool air slid in, carrying the evening breath—stone, distant grass, something metallic that always clung to places where too many people had learned too much too young.
Zoe rested her palms on the sill.
Behind her, the room had settled into that fragile calm that followed storms. Not healed. Just... aligned enough not to fracture again.
She spoke without turning.
"Noah."
A pause. Then footsteps—careful, like he wasn't sure if he was invited or merely tolerated.
"...Yes?" he asked.
Zoe glanced back at him, expression unreadable.
"Do you want to join?"
Not need.
Not should.
Want.
Noah blinked once. Then nodded immediately, a little too fast.
"Isn't that obvious? Just say where."
Zoe turned back to the window.
"Grocery."
She reached into her coat, then stopped. Looked over her shoulder again.
"Nevara."
Nevara straightened instinctively. "Yes?"
"The list. I handed you last time."
There was a flicker—surprise, then hesitation. Nevara stepped forward and offered the paper, fingers brushing it like it might judge her for what was written there.
Zoe scanned it quickly. Efficient. Clean. Practical.
Then she paused.
Just a breath.
One line sat there—small, almost shy among necessities. Not urgent. Not logical. Entirely human.
Zoe's brow lifted.
"...Really?"
Nevara's reaction was immediate and catastrophic. Her cheeks flushed red, eyes darting away as if the floor had personally betrayed her.
"It's not—I mean—it's optional," she said too quickly.
Zoe hummed.
"You added it anyway."
Nevara said nothing.
Zoe handed the list back.
"Interesting."
Nevara groaned softly. "You don't have to—"
"I wasn't going to," Zoe said. Then added, casually, "But now it's your responsibility."
Nevara looked up. "...What is?"
Zoe's gaze shifted—not to the list, but to Anaia, who had been pretending very hard not to listen.
"Taking care of her," Zoe said. "Since you're already invested."
A beat.
"You're in charge here."
Anaia sputtered. "Hey—"
Nevara froze. Then, very quietly, nodded.
"I can do that."
Zoe accepted the answer like a sealed contract.
Behind them, footsteps approached.
Cecilia didn't speak at first. She simply stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Zoe—sudden and fierce, like she was afraid the moment would dissolve if she hesitated.
"Thank you," Cecilia murmured. Then, softer—"Scion."
Zoe stiffened for half a second.
Then rested a hand lightly on Cecilia's shoulder. Not an embrace. An anchor.
"Go," Zoe said. "I'll come see you."
Cecilia pulled back, eyes bright, and nodded.
"I know."
She left with a backward glance, like someone memorizing light.
The room thinned out after that—Anaia grumbling, Nevara following, Noah lingering until Zoe gave him a look that meant later.
Soon, it was just Zoe and the window again.
The air moved.
She stayed still.
Caretaker.
Arbiter.
Adult of the house.
And yet—just for a moment—she let herself lean into the frame, watching the world move without her, grateful it didn't look back.
She always did this part alone.
And that, somehow, was the heaviest duty of all.
---
Noah held the list steady in one hand while Zoe moved along the vegetable aisle, checking items with precise, methodical care.
ZOE
(muttering as she picks up carrots)
"Didn't forget cucumbers... check. Tomatoes... check. Garlic... hmm..."
NOAH
(chuckling)
"You sound like you're defusing a bomb, not buying dinner."
ZOE
(glancing at him, teasing)
"Well, some things are equally explosive if handled poorly. Besides, someone's gotta make sure this house doesn't starve itself into mutiny."
NOAH
(smiling despite himself)
"Right. And here I thought I was the only adult around. Clearly mistaken."
ZOE
(playful, nudging him with her elbow)
"Keep your hands off my supervision duties, Mr. List Holder. You just make sure I don't forget the basil."
NOAH
(raising an eyebrow, mock serious)
"Ah, so now I'm just a glorified basil monitor? Fine. But don't blame me if you accidentally buy oregano instead."
ZOE
(grinning, rolling her eyes)
"Then I'll blame your mediocre eyesight."
They shared a brief laugh, the tension lightened, before Zoe's fingers hovered over a fresh bunch of basil—and then a hand shot out, catching hers.
STRANGER
(smiling, voice hopeful)
"Mee-Toh, is this you?"
ZOE
(startled, ready to react)
"Ahhh!"
The stranger stepped back immediately, hands raised, a sheepish smile on his face.
STRANGER
"Oh! I'm so sorry, Miss."
Noah stiffened, a protective edge in his stance.
NOAH
(tense, low)
"Who the hell is this now?"
The stranger chuckled, eyes flicking to Zoe with curious intensity, a flicker of longing hidden beneath the smile.
STRANGER
"Oh... I just thought I saw someone I used to know. Couldn't resist seeing them again."
ZOE
(firm, cautious)
"I'm not Mee-Toh. And how do you know about him?"
A shadow of regret passed over his features, and his voice softened.
STRANGER
"He was... a friend. I used to know him. I wanted a chance to see him again, but it seems those were just my imagination..."
(pausing, softer)
"I swear, my intentions are pure. Zerka Nightshade. Or just Zerka. Well... currently better to just call me Zerka."
NOAH
(still wary, voice clipped)
"You can let her go now. Seriously."
ZERKA
(apologetic, hands raised)
"Oh! I don't think I've gotten myself into trouble... I really didn't mean to."
ZOE
(laughing lightly, teasing)
"Maybe just a little. Noah, don't bite his head off—yet."
Noah leaned closer to her ear, muttering under his breath.
NOAH
"You know I don't trust this guy. If he knew Mee-Toh... I swear."
ZOE
(humming, teasing)
"True enough. But for now, he doesn't seem malicious. Let me handle it."
NOAH
(half-smile, taunting)
"Seems like the sun's really too hot for some people, huh?"
ZERKA
(chuckling, slightly embarrassed)
"Oh! I'm sorry... running days going on, so yeah... my brain played stupid tricks. Hope you guys wouldn't mind. I'm really sorry for it."
Zoe looked Zerka in the eye, steady and calm.
ZOE
"Please. don't mind him. I'm Zoe Morales. Or Cavingray. Your choice."
Zerka's eyebrows shot up, a grin forming at the corner of his lips.
ZERKA
"Two surnames? That's... cool. Nice collision of stars."
ZOE
(teasing, playful)
"You could have just said, 'I belong to two stars, accidentally.'"
ZERKA
(chuckling)
"Exactly. A cosmic accident. My bad."
He released her hand gently, bowing slightly.
ZERKA
"You're not Mee-Toh. My apologies for bothering you, Ma'am."
ZOE
(grinning, stepping back)
"Nice meeting you, Zerka. Maybe we'll cross paths again."
ZERKA
(grinning back, glancing at Noah)
"I'd like that. And... sorry again for the confusion."
ZOE
(smiling politely)
"Thanks for understanding."
Zerka tilted his head slightly, bowing once more.
ZERKA
"And, by the way... it was genuinely nice meeting you, Zoe. I'll make sure I remember your name... not as Mee-Toh."
ZOE
(laughing)
"I appreciate that, Mr. Zeeby."
ZERKA
(grinning, amused)
"Mr. Zeeby? I like that. Keep it."
Noah, still tense, finally stepped back and muttered,
NOAH
"Good luck keeping him in check. Or he's gonna regret it later."
Zoe smirked, adjusting her grip on the vegetables.
ZOE
"Don't worry. I've got this. You're really sweet, you know that?"
Noah blinked, caught off guard, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. He stayed silent, letting the warmth hang in the air—a rare concession to peace.
ZOE
"Now... since we're in this happy mood, let me give you a treat. We can pick some of Nevara's favorite things too. She'd be happy to see them."
Noah's eyes flicked to her, uncertainty giving way to quiet approval. He didn't need to speak—the faint lift of his brow said it all.
Zoe's fingers danced across the produce, selecting carefully: ripe berries, fragrant herbs, the exact shade of leafy greens she knew Nevara preferred. She held each up like little treasures, and for a moment, the bustle of the market seemed to shrink around them.
NOAH
(softly, almost to himself)
"She really is something, huh..."
Zoe glanced at him, a teasing smile on her lips, but her eyes carried sincerity.
ZOE
"Yeah. She is. And she deserves it."
Noah's gaze softened further, and the two of them continued along the aisle, a quiet camaraderie settling between them, the tension from earlier eased, if only for now.
