“Hello, my favorite thing.

  It took you seventeen minutes to stop frowning in your sleep. When you finally did, you looked calmer. I’m glad you were able to rest at last.

  By the way, blue didn’t look bad on you yesterday, but red belongs to you more. Wear it in your hair. I want to see it.”

  —Ekchron

  That was the note Lorena had found hours earlier when she woke that morning. It had been placed on her bedside table, neatly set beside her glass of water and her phone.

  Which implied, in a very clear and objective way, that the Seventh Ancestral could enter her house whenever he wished. Her bedroom. While she slept.

  “Good morning, Ekchron,” she had murmured then, as if any of that were remotely normal.

  She didn’t feel afraid. Somehow, the thought that he had watched her sleep and left her a note instead of killing her… felt disturbingly sweet.

  Terrible. Unsettling. But sweet. Wasn’t it?

  Now, hours later, she was reading the note again behind the bakery counter.

  She had worn the red ribbon. Her low ponytail rested over her shoulder, tied with the exact shade he had mentioned. Not because he had asked… but because she wanted him to see it.

  The bell above the door chimed. Lorena lifted her head at once, folded the note, and slipped it into her pocket.

  “Good morning, Azul,” she said, her voice soft in that way she reserved only for him.

  Ekchron walked in with his hands in his pockets, like the world owed him something. His eyes scanned the counter. Then her. They lingered a second too long on her ponytail. On the red ribbon.

  He smiled, satisfied.

  “Morning, baker,” he greeted, that insolent edge in his tone.

  He stepped up to the counter and rested his elbows on it, leaning just enough to invade her space without making it obvious. Lorena felt the closeness. She didn’t move away.

  “Who was the man yesterday?” she asked. “The one who dragged you off.”

  The click of his tongue was immediate, irritated.

  “Ah. Him.” He shrugged. “A friend.”

  “You looked close.”

  “We are. Like brothers.”

  Brothers who kiss, provoke each other, and share a bed when boredom strikes. But Ekchron decided not to clarify what that fraternity truly entailed.

  The door burst open before she could say anything else. Three boys stumbled in, shoving each other, laughing too loudly. Eighteen, nineteen at most. All noise, all chaos, hormones running the show.

  “Bro, I told you they don’t sell that here.”

  “Maybe they do, how would I know?” another shot back, scanning the place shamelessly. “Ma’am, you got ham-and-cheese flavored energy drinks?”

  The third doubled over laughing, smacking his friend’s shoulder.

  “It’s a bakery,” she replied with infinite patience. “We sell bread and pastries.”

  “Okay, but picture this: croissant vape,” one insisted. “That’d go hard.”

  Laughter erupted again.

  Ekchron didn’t move a muscle. His gaze passed over them the way one observes insects hitting a window.

  “I understand you’re joking, but if you’re not buying anything, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Lorena said, offering a tired smile.

  “Relax, ma’am. It’s chill.”

  Ekchron spoke then, voice flat.

  “Get out.”

  All three turned toward him as though they’d just noticed a new piece of furniture in the room. They looked him up and down… and burst into laughter.

  “Brooo. How tall are you, like five foot nothing?”

  “And that hair, man… is that radioactive orange or did you lose a fight with a traffic cone?”

  Lorena felt her fingers tighten against the edge of the counter.

  Ekchron didn’t shift his posture. Still leaning there, shoulders loose, mouth curved in a small smile that never reached his eyes.

  Ah. Perfect. Three volunteers to vanish from public record.

  One of them stepped a little too close. Ekchron retreated half a step—not out of fear, but out of conceptual hygiene. As if recalibrating the minimum acceptable distance between species. Only Lorena noticed.

  “Bro, you barely hit my shoulder.”

  Interesting, Ekchron thought. I could tear it off and we could test that theory.

  “Whatever,” another muttered, already losing interest. “This NPC’s glitched.”

  “Yeah, he’s straight-up AFK.”

  Ekchron stopped planning murder. Now he was simply confused. Glitched? AFK? Were they speaking in some minor dialect? A code? An adolescent mating ritual?

  The boys laughed again, weaker this time, and left as abruptly as they had entered, shoving each other out the door while the bell gave one last sharp chime to close the scene.

  Ekchron turned his head toward Lorena.

  “What does that mean?”

  She looked at him more closely than before. It wasn’t just that he didn’t understand the slang. It was the way he asked: no wounded pride. No need to prove anything. Genuine confusion.

  Azul didn’t talk like boys his age. He didn’t move like them. He didn’t have friends who barged in laughing. He never mentioned school, or work, or plans.

  And he was there. Always there.

  Lorena found herself wondering what he did when he wasn’t standing in front of her. He was beginning to stir a dangerous curiosity in her.

  “You should tell me more about yourself,” she said.

  Ekchron frowned slightly, caught off guard by the sudden request. He walked to the nearest table and dropped into the chair with studied ease, crossing one leg over the other.

  “I’m an open book.”

  Lorena came around the counter and sat across from him. The red ribbon slid over her shoulder as she rested her elbows on the table.

  “Then tell me your real name.”

  He folded his arms and closed his eyes, letting out a thoughtful sound. All that theatrical deliberation… over something he had known from the very first second he would never reveal.

  “I could,” he said at last, “but only in exchange for a kiss.”

  She stared at him for a second in silence… and then laughed, pressing a hand to her chest as if he had said the most predictable thing in the world.

  “Is that a no?” he asked.

  “That’s a ‘you’re impossible.’ You’ve been asking me the same thing for days.”

  He leaned back in the chair, lifting his chin, genuinely offended.

  She watched him. He wasn’t acting. There was something childish—yet endearing—about the way he frowned when he didn’t get what he wanted.

  He’s that desperate for a kiss, huh, she thought.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Her gaze dipped briefly to his lips, then rose again before the movement could be noticed.

  She told herself this was absurd. Ridiculous. Reckless… but then a slow smile curved her lips.

  “Fine,” she said suddenly.

  Ekchron’s head snapped toward her.

  “Fine… what?”

  “Let’s play.”

  That captured his full attention. A game. His posture shifted; he leaned forward, focused.

  “A kiss… in exchange for a truth.”

  Silence. Ekchron didn’t answer. He had come prepared for a no. For a sigh. For a don’t start. But this wasn’t rejection. It wasn’t exactly acceptance either. It was worse: interest.

  “You tell me something intimate about you that’s true,” she continued calmly, “and I pay.”

  A truth. He had thousands. Five thousand years of sharp, filthy, impossible truths… none usable.

  Centuries manipulating rules… and now he didn’t know how to play.

  “Well?” Lorena asked, chin resting in her hands. “Are you going to tell me a truth?”

  On the outside, Ekchron appeared still. Serene. Superior. Inside…

  A truth. Verifiable. Intimate enough to earn a kiss. Cannot compromise identity. Cannot imply immortality. Cannot imply massacres.

  He analyzed options.

  Real name: discarded. Real age: absurd. Approximate body count: not romantic.

  He needed a strategic truth, impeccable… and chose what he deemed worthy of himself, smiling at his own brilliance.

  He lifted his gaze to her with complete solemnity.

  “I have memorized the layout of this bakery down to the millimeter. I know exactly how many steps there are from the door to this table.”

  Lorena’s smile froze. A full second of silence.

  “That is… impressively meticulous,” she said at last.

  Ekchron nodded gravely. “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  He chose to ignore that.

  “In any case,” she added, “mapping out my business like you’re planning a robbery doesn’t countas as an intimate truth.”

  He frowned.

  Fine. More human. More social.

  “I don’t understand jokes when they rely on too many modern references.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “I’ve never celebrated a birthday.”

  “No.”

  The refusals were immediate. Cold. Merciless. The kiss remained there. Unfairly conditional.

  Ekchron rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers in front of his lips, half-covering his mouth. He looked at her over his knuckles, eyes narrowed, unsettlingly serious.

  Very well. If she wanted truth, she would have truth.

  “I don’t appear in public records. I can recognize someone by the way they walk before I see them. I know exactly how many tiles there are between that display case and the door. I don’t forget faces. I don’t forget voices. I don’t forget offenses. I don’t like being ignored. I don’t like it when you laugh while I’m serious. I don’t like losing. I never lose. I hate losing.”

  When he finished, Lorena stared at him as though he had switched languages halfway through a sentence. Then she drew in a slow breath, like someone accepting a non-refundable purchase.

  “Well…” she said. “On a scale of one to ten for unsettling, you just broke the scale.”

  Something dangerously close to hope flickered in his eyes, as if he hadn’t just listed final-boss traits.

  “So—”

  She didn’t let him finish.

  “No.”

  His hands dropped onto the table with a soft sound. No theatrics. He didn’t look angry. He looked… defeated. Strategyless.

  Lorena watched the gesture, and something in her expression softened.

  Without a word, she reached across the table and laid her hand over his. Not dramatic. Just skin over skin. Real warmth. He went perfectly still. The blush rose instantly. He did not know how to react to that. To threats, yes. To grievances, always. To a warm hand resting on his… no.

  “That’s not what I want,” she murmured. “I want something that tells me who you are.”

  Ekchron lowered his gaze to the table.

  “I…”

  The word hovered. His mind, usually a flawless mechanism, now spun uselessly. He had thousands of sharp phrases, false identities, half-truths ready for deployment. But with her hand still over his… none fit.

  “I…” he repeated, quieter.

  He didn’t finish.

  Lorena watched him. The flush on his face was obvious. Not feigned. Not strategic. Not calculated seduction. Pure awkwardness. And it warmed her heart.

  Cute, she thought. Too cute. A guy who brags about never losing, but melts when I touch his hand.

  The corner of her mouth curved in an affectionate smile.

  And then reality caught up.

  Why was she holding his hand like that? Why had she turned this into a game? Why had the kiss stopped sounding impossible and started sounding… possible?

  She withdrew her hand gently and stood, adjusting her apron.

  Ekchron took a second to react. Suddenly he felt the empty space where her hand had been.

  “Wait,” he said, rising. “I can… I can tell another one.”

  She was already walking away.

  “When you have that truth,” she replied without looking at him, “let me know.”

  She returned behind the counter and sank into her chair. He watched her for a moment longer, as if calculating whether to insist.

  Lorena lowered her gaze to her own hands.

  What are you doing, Lorena? He’s a kid. And you’re married.

  She shouldn’t be hoping he found that truth. And yet, she was.

  Lyciah had never been inside a train station before.

  Overlapping voices. Suitcase wheels rattling against the floor. The glass ceiling let in the sharp light of midday, and the wind sweeping through the open platforms kept lifting her dress, forcing her to hold it down with one hand.

  Beside her, Seliane brushed one of her brown pigtails away from her face with an impatient flick.

  “This is incredible,” she murmured, spinning slightly just to take everything in.

  Momoru held his light suitcase in one hand, calmly watching the steady current of people coming and going.

  Lyciah tightened her grip on her own suitcase strap when she saw him: Caelan cutting through the crowd with that straight-backed, steady stride of his. Elric walked beside him, hands shoved into his pockets, clearly trying to go unnoticed.

  “ELRIC!”

  Seliane’s voice shot across the platform like an arrow, drawing several heads their way. Elric froze mid-step.

  “Sel…” he muttered, mortified, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t shout.”

  He made a frantic gesture for her to lower her voice. Seliane laughed outright, and when they were close enough, she grabbed his arm without hesitation. He sighed in resignation—but didn’t pull away.

  Lyciah couldn’t help smiling. Then she discreetly smoothed her dress, checked that the blue ribbon in her hair and her earrings were still in place, and took a small step toward Caelan.

  “It’s my first time on a train,” she admitted softly, almost like she was confessing a secret.

  Caelan looked at her with complete seriousness.

  “I’ve read that they are statistically safer than horse-drawn carriages.”

  Seliane burst out laughing the moment she heard him. Elric let out a snort he immediately tried to disguise as a cough. Even Momoru smiled.

  Lyciah pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh.

  “I… don’t think that’s the point.”

  Caelan’s brow furrowed slightly.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  That only made Seliane laugh harder.

  Lyciah felt some of her nerves loosen. That absurd kind of normalcy was a lifeline.

  Then she heard it—a distant tremor running along the tracks before the train appeared in the distance, gliding toward the platform with a low, resonant sound. The wind shifted as it passed in front of them, lifting her dress again and brushing loose strands of hair against her cheek.

  Lyciah watched the train as if it weren’t just transportation. It was a straight line toward something she had avoided for years.

  Toward the truth. Toward Sariel. Toward a goodbye she had never been allowed to have.

  “It’ll be a long trip,” Momoru said.

  Lyciah nodded.

  The train’s final whistle blended with the footsteps of passengers boarding the cars. Lyciah stepped inside with her friends and settled by the window. The sun was beginning to dip, and with it the afternoon slipped gradually toward the night that would be waiting for them at the other end of the journey.

  When Lorena arrived home that night, she was still thinking about Azul’s blush. The way he had gone rigid under her hand. That awkward, sincere way of looking at her when he lost control.

  So easy to unsettle. So adorable.

  She allowed herself a small smile as she slipped off her shoes.

  “I thought you’d be home earlier.”

  Her husband’s voice came from the living room, cutting through her thoughts.

  “I left at my usual time,” she replied, setting her bag down carefully.

  Javier appeared in the doorway, loosening his tie.

  “I get home exhausted from work and the last thing I want is to cook. I figured dinner would at least be ready.”

  The smile faded from her face.

  “I’m tired too.”

  He let out a dry laugh.

  “You’re always tired. If you feel that bad, quit your job. It’s not complicated. I can support the house. I’ll make sure you get whatever pills you need.”

  Pills. As if her illness were a habit. As if her own body weren’t determined to turn against her from the inside. As if she didn’t live checking numbers, monitoring levels, carrying the constant fear that one organ might give up before she did.

  Lorena glanced at the television screen. Canned laughter. Bright colors.

  Azul had blushed because she brushed his hand. Her husband didn’t even look at her when he spoke.

  “I’ll change,” she said at last, voice neutral. “Then I’ll make something.”

  He was already sitting down. The volume went up.

  Lorena walked toward the bedroom with that familiar hollow feeling. But the moment she stepped inside, her heart jolted.

  On the bedside table lay a small, shiny wrapper. A sugar-free lemon candy—the kind she could have without her doctor frowning. Beside it, a note folded with precise care.

  “Ekchron…” she murmured.

  Pulse quickening, she picked up the candy between her fingers.

  “How do you know I like these…?”

  Without unwrapping it, she pressed the candy lightly against her lips. The smile came on its own, inevitable.

  Then she unfolded the note.

  “I liked seeing you with the red ribbon.

  It was exactly how I imagined it.

  Thank you for not pretending it wasn’t for me.”

  —Ekchron.

  She looked at herself in the bedroom mirror, fingers brushing the red ribbon.

  Maybe what was unsettling wasn’t the way he watched her… but that she wanted him to.