Myst didn’t look up when she drifted closer. His pencil moved steadily across the page, steady and unbroken—until it stopped. He raised his head, not toward her as she half expected, but to the firelight. For a moment he just watched, and then a small, unbidden smile tugged at his lips.

  Cynthia followed his gaze, and when her eyes found what had caught him, the corners of her own mouth curved upward despite herself.

  By the flames, Rei and Navi had curled up against Queenie’s warm side, both fast asleep. Rei’s head rested neatly on Navi’s shoulder, while the slightly taller Kirlia let her silky blue hair spill over the Buneary’s long ears. It was the kind of sight Cynthia would have thought impossible, given Rei’s usual prickly attitude. But, apparently, even Rei could find peace enough to let her guard down while asleep.

  A little farther back, two broad leaves had been drilled into the cliffside, forming makeshift hammocks that swayed gently in the breeze. One cradled a knocked out Riolu; the other, just beneath it, held Roselia—who had no doubt crafted both.

  All in all, it was, in her humble opinion, an absolutely adorable sight.

  For a few seconds, she simply took it in alongside Myst, until she finally tore her eyes away and stepped forward.

  He didn’t look up, but as she drew nearer he still spoke. “Johanna not done with her shower?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied, one hand adjusting the towel that held her damp hair in place.

  Myst let out a small hum, “She met somebody?”

  Cynthia froze, her hand falling as she glanced back at him. His pencil was already moving across the page again, as if nothing unusual had slipped.

  She furrowed her eyebrows. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged. “Showers were ice cold. Not much else to do. I just guessed she ran into an acquaintance or something.”

  Cynthia studied him for a few seconds, then a sly grin worked its way across her lips. “Ice cold? What do you mean? The women’s showers were pretty warm, actually. Just needed to press a button on the wall to turn the heating on.”

  Myst’s head snapped toward her. “What? Wait, could you actually get them to—”

  He cut himself off the instant he saw her face, expression flattening. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

  She grinned back at him, satisfaction curling in her chest. And under his deadpan stare, she gave a small curtsy. “Thank you.”

  Myst just shook his head, before he too let out a small grin. “Okay, you got me.” Then he paused, like he just realized something, “But you know, I think I’m fine with that.”

  Cynthia raised a single eyebrow through her grin.

  “Why?”

  Myst shot finger guns at her.

  “Because I am rubbing off on you. Great humor, by the way, absolute ten out of ten.”

  Cynthia met his eyes for a long moment, then sighed, shaking her head as she stepped closer. As she did, without really meaning to, her gaze drifted down to his notebook, where vague outlines sprawled across the page.

  Yeah. There was no way that was supposed to be writing.

  For more than a month he’d been filling that book with something, though she had never managed to figure out what. He had told her once he’d bought it for notes, but, well, Myst wasn’t exactly the note-taking type.

  She leaned down slightly, trying to sneak a look—

  —but Myst snapped the notebook shut before she could catch anything.

  He looked up at her, blinking.

  Cynthia pouted, lips curving just enough to make her complaint sound half-teasing. “Is whatever you’re doing in that thing really that secret?”

  For a moment Myst only stared at her, before his gaze dropped, hair spilling across his face. “I mean, it could be my diary, you know. Maybe I just don’t want the girl I’m traveling with to see all my innermost secrets.”

  She prettily lifted a single eyebrow. “Oh really.”

  From beneath the curtain of his hair, Myst’s mouth curved faintly, blue eyes glinting with a mischievous twinkle. “What, you don’t think I could? Because I’ll have you know, writing in a diary isn’t exactly rocket science. Like, I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I am not illiterate either.”

  Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Of course you could. But most people don’t draw that much in their diaries.”

  His mischievous twinkling faltered. He glanced down at the closed notebook, lips pressing together. “Oh. Well… point, I guess.” He almost trailed off, then shook his head. “You noticed, huh?”

  Her eyes followed his, lingering on the book. Truthfully, she’d only pieced it together a few days ago. And even then, he had confirmed literally right now.

  Not that it was her being unobservant or anything. Honestly, considering how quickly he usually snapped the notebook shut whenever she drew near, her chances of noticing what he was really doing had always been slim. So, at first, she’d assumed it was just writing. After all, the few scattered glimpses she had managed to catch looked like nothing more than messy scribbles.

  It wasn’t until yesterday, when he’d spent nearly the entire evening sketching with quiet concentration, that she realized he had to be drawing.

  “Of course I did. It was obvious. I realized it almost instantly. It’s just, compared to you, I am actually a good friend—so I was waiting for you to tell me.” Cynthia declared with a little toss of her head.

  You know.

  Like a liar.

  Myst studied the book a moment longer, then exhaled softly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Well… since the cat’s out of the bag, you want to see?”

  Some part of her wanted to pretend to be above needing to see what he was drawing.

  But honestly?

  She had never nodded so fast in her life.

  Myst just shook his head at her reaction, before he slipped a hand into the notebook, thumbing through until he reached somewhere near the three-quarter mark. Peeking briefly inside, he hesitated, then began flipping forward in quick, hurried motions.

  Cynthia dragged the nearest mat closer and dropped onto it beside him. Without really thinking, she leaned in, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she tried to sneak a glimpse.

  No luck. The instant he noticed, he lifted the notebook just high enough to keep it out of her view.

  She eyed the empty space where it had been a heartbeat ago, cheeks puffing—not a pout, of course, definitely not—until finally, mercifully, he stopped and lowered it again.

  Her eyes flicked to the open page, not at all sure what she was about to see—

  And she froze.

  A Riolu stared back at her from the page.

  No.

  Not a Riolu.

  Her Riolu.

  The little Aura Pokémon’s face was rendered in fine, careful strokes, alive with determination. Quick Attack streaked around him in sharp, sweeping lines, the blur of motion etched so vividly it almost looked as if he might spring off the page at any second.

  She stared at it for a few second.

  Cynthia wasn’t sure what she had expected his drawings to be like. Stick figures maybe? Some cartoon-like faces. Just something simple, honestly.

  But the drawing was good.

  No—good wasn’t enough.

  It was great.

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  After all, even without anyone telling her, she could recognize instantly that this was her Riolu. The silent confidence, the lean form, the precise way he carried his Quick Attack, all of it was there. A dozen tiny quirks that made Riolu unique had been pinned to paper with startling clarity.

  It was the sort of work she could imagine people paying for. Hell, with just a touch of colour and polish, she would have been more than happy to buy it herself.

  Lifting her gaze, she locked onto his blue eyes. “You… know how to draw?”

  He only shrugged, his pencil reappearing in his hand like it had never left. With a few quick strokes, he smoothed out a broken line and added fine details to the sketch’s lower edge.

  “Apparently,” he said, tone almost absentminded.

  Cynthia moved a hand to the notebook and let her fingertip trail lightly over the page before turning it.

  He didn’t stop her, and another sketch filled the paper.

  Rei, captured mid-step, a savage smile curling her lips, her body glowing with violent joy. The next page revealed Navi back when she was a Ralts, drawn with soft lines that seemed to all flow towards her wide, curious eyes.

  She flipped again.

  Queenie appeared, relaxed and regal, every curve of her form radiating quiet pride even as she curled up around her backpack. Opposite was Roselia, scarf fluttering dramatically behind as he bowed to an invisible audience, holding a single rose in his bouquet-like hands.

  “They’re beautiful,” she murmured, her thumb brushing gently across one of the drawings.

  Myst just shook his head. “I guess they’re okay, but—”

  She shook her head. “They’re great. Honestly, this—” she waved her hand vaguely toward the pages. “I thought you were drawing stick figures or something in here, not… this.”

  Myst flushed faintly at her praise, a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I guess I’ll take your word for it. And…” He hesitated, a wry look crossing his face as his eyes dropped back to the book. “I mean, it’s just… relaxing. Feels like I’m connecting with some part of myself. Like it might help me remember something…” He hesitated, “It’s weird, I didn’t even know I could draw, but the second my pencil touched paper I just could.”

  Cynthia tried not to react to his words.

  It apparently didn’t quite work.

  Myst paused, glancing up at her expression, and then grinned suddenly. “But really, it’s fine. I promise. It’s not like I was hiding it out of shame or because I’m secretly tortured by my ability to draw or anything. I just didn’t feel like showing off...” Then, instead of continuing, as if sensing her doubt, he let his grin turn sly. “Honestly, it’s more like I was saving it for a rainy day. You know, when I finally run out of ways to amaze you.”

  She stared for a couple of seconds, trying to somehow sense if he was being serious, before letting out a sigh and rolling her eyes.

  “What about the earlier pages, then? The ones you didn’t want me to see?”

  Myst froze. The faint flush from her earlier praise coming back in full force as he snapped the notebook shut. “They were prototypes or incomplete. I can show them to you later, when they’re done.” he said quickly. Then, before she could press, he rushed on, “Anyway—I was actually going to ask you something. I was thinking about it in the shower earlier, but we never finished our conversation about the egg, right?”

  Cynthia let out another sigh at the blatant deflection but let it slide. In the end, it was his prerogative to show them or not. It wasn’t like she was about to force him.

  “So,” he continued, “I was just wondering if Riolu actually figured anything out.”

  She leaned back slightly, fingers slipping to the edge of the towel wrapped around her hair as she opened her mouth.

  “I asked, but he said he couldn’t say anything conclusive. Maybe a week, at most a couple of months. Something like that. Can’t really blame him, he isn’t exactly an expert, and even they can have trouble when it comes to Pokémon eggs.”

  With one tug, she pulled the towel free. Damp blonde strands tumbled loose, clinging to her neck and shoulders as she shivered.

  Beside her Myst stared into the fire.

  “Sooner than I expected, to be honest.” He mumbled slightly.

  Cynthia shrugged. “Well, relatively speaking. I mean, a month is still quite some time right? We have only known each other for around two you know?”

  Myst let out a low laugh. “I guess you’re right about that. Though considering how we met I think…” He paused, eyes drifting toward the place she’d just come from.

  Cynthia followed his glance, half-expecting to see Johanna, but there was nothing. Just the scatter of tents across the campground, most of them lit by their own small fires, where the other trainers sat talking quietly in the warm glow.

  She scanned the rows for a moment, then turned back to him, brow arched.

  He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Nothing. I just started wondering if we’ll be able to get back into a city before it hatches. Normally we’re never more than a week from one, so I wasn’t worried before. But if this whole Kingdom situation drags on, we might be stuck here for a while. Kind of ruins my whole plan of prepping for the egg.”

  “Hmm, I honestly wouldn’t—wait, one second.” Cynthia stood, slipped into her tent, and returned with a brush in hand before settling across from him again. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much. The fact that it’s lasted this long probably means it’s close to being resolved. Realistically, it’s just the Rangers being tied up with something else and unable to assist. Byron seemed more worried about the Geodude migration, right? That should be finishing up about now. My guess? This Grass Kingdom stays put a couple more days, max.”

  Myst nodded slowly, though his unconvinced expression almost made her sigh.

  “I know it probably seems strange,” she went on, pulling her brush through the damp strands of her hair, “but trust me, the Rangers always figure these things out. The last time they couldn’t handle something and actually needed to call in the Elite Four was, what—forty years ago? Flint might say otherwise, but I’d bet they’ll have this whole thing cleared within a week.”

  Myst hummed faintly, before leaning back. “You are probably right…”

  Silence settled. Cynthia busied herself with the brush while Myst tilted his gaze skyward.

  “So… what did you think of Flint?” Myst asked suddenly, his tone too casual to be casual.

  Cynthia froze mid-stroke before forcing the motion to continue. She didn’t turn her head, only slid her gaze sideways, catching him at the edge of her vision.

  Myst wasn’t looking at her, continuing to stare straight up, his expression unreadable in the shifting glow.

  “What do you mean?”

  His face didn’t so much as twitch, but he looked down from the sky, leaned forward, and glanced at her.

  “You like him? I mean, Volkner seemed pretty cool, but even though Flint helped us find this spot he was a little bit…”

  As his words trailed off, Cynthia studied him for a few seconds, recalling the way he’d acted around Flint. She had decided to ignore it at the time, and what it might mean, but for him to even ask a question like that…

  She shoved the thought aside for what felt like the hundredth time today, shook her head, and snorted. “He’s an idiot.”

  Myst eased back a little at that, and somehow the tiny flicker of relief on his face annoyed her more than anything Flint had actually done… not that Flint had set a very high bar to begin with.

  It wasn’t as though he’d done anything terrible.

  It was just—

  Well, she couldn’t lie; he hadn’t exactly left the best impression.

  Sure, when they’d asked about somewhere with more room, he’d led them here, a spot most trainers avoided since the tents ended up close to the battlefields.

  And yes, he and Volkner had helped set up their tents.

  And, well… fine, he’d been useful explaining the situation.

  But in the end he’d been pushy, nosy, and just generally grated on her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  She frowned lightly. Really, why was Volkner even traveling with somebody like that? Flint was probably a talented trainer, maybe even as talented as Volkner, but that didn’t excuse anything. He had to be exhausting to travel with, she could already tell. Always sticking his foot in his mouth, charging ahead without a thought in his head.

  Yeah, calling him an idiot was, if anything, flattering.

  Myst smiled at her answer, though he still said, “Idiot’s kind of rough, isn’t it?”

  She paused her internal critique, turned to him, and raised one eyebrow. “You disagree?”

  He shrugged. “Not really…or, well, maybe a little. But he calmed down once we actually talked to him, right? Honestly, I think he’s just awkward, overcompensating or something. Like he means well, but just doesn’t know how to express himself. And, hey, if nothing else, at least he’s got good taste.”

  Cynthia’s brush stilled. “Good taste in what?”

  Myst shifted, turning just enough for his blue eyes to meet hers. There was a touch of color on his face, whether from the firelight or his own skin, she couldn’t tell.

  Not that it mattered either way.

  Because suddenly, her heart, which she’d managed to keep steady for the last two days, skipped a beat again.

  Myst blinked, as if only just realizing what he’d said. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again before he finally looked away. For a moment he stayed silent, until his gaze dropped to the ground, and lingered.

  Cynthia followed his eyes and realized he was staring at her hand.

  It was almost touching his.

  He didn’t do anything, but for some reason Cynthia felt her thoughts began to race.

  Was he going to—

  Myst stared for a few seconds, then tilted his head.

  “Huh. You actually have really small hands,” he said, almost absently, lifting his own as if to measure hers by sight alone.

  Her eyes followed his hand, and before she could think better of it, she raised her own. Fingers spread, she pressed her palm against his.

  She hadn’t realized how big they were.

  Even with her thumb sticking out on the opposite side, her hand nearly disappeared against his. His fingers stretched past hers by almost a knuckle, leaving hers looking delicate in comparison.

  Myst tilted his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “I stand corrected. They’re tiny.”

  She wrenched her eyes from their joined hands and tried to glare. “I don’t have tiny hands. They’re average.”

  It didn’t help much. His grin softened, easing into something warmer. “Not tiny, huh?” he muttered.

  “Not tiny,” she repeated stubbornly.

  His hand twitched, fingers shifting as if uncertain, like he wanted to move them but didn’t dare.

  She didn’t notice.

  Too busy trying to quiet the frantic pounding of her heart.

  Too busy failing to stop her eyes from wandering.

  The sharp lines of his face drew her in, lines that had once been hollow and gaunt but now seemed softened, filled out. Stronger. Handsome, even. Her gaze lingered on the curve of his jaw, the way his lips tugged with a hint of uncertainty, the flicker of light in his eyes she couldn’t quite look away from.

  Heat bloomed across her cheeks, but she couldn’t make herself stop staring. Not when every detail of him seemed to pull her deeper, until the rest of the world blurred and it was only him.

  So she didn’t really mean to.

  She didn’t really think to.

  It just happened.

  A shy little smile tugged at her lips as she stared at him.

  Myst froze. His eyes widened, his expression dazed for a heartbeat, as though she’d just knocked the air out of him. Then, before she could blink, something seemed to break inside him. Composure faltering, restraint slipping through his fingers, he—

  Moved his hand.

  Not carefully.

  Not planned.

  Just did it.

  His fingers slid between hers, filling the spaces one by one, slow enough that she felt every point of contact. Heat bled from his skin into hers, and when his palm finally settled against her own, her hand seemed to vanish inside his.

  Tiny.

  For a long second, all she could do was stare at their joined hands, her pulse hammering traitorously in her ears.

  Neither of them said anything.

  And so, slowly, inevitably, reality caught up.

  Why had he—?

  No, why had she—?

  His face, which had only been flushed before, went scarlet. He tore his eyes from hers, turning back to the fire as though it suddenly demanded all his focus.

  Cynthia followed suit, dragging her gaze to the flames, pretending to study their glow even as her hand burned in his.

  Even so, in the corner of her vision, she caught the slight parting of his lips.

  “Flint said we’d need to wait a bit for our battle. The fields won’t be free until after lunch, so… I was wondering if you wanted to help prepare or something.” His words came low, almost mumbled.

  He didn’t let go.

  “Okay,” she said, a little too quickly, a little too loud.

  And neither did she.

  uhm akcshuly" on me. (the freaking horror)