The apartment carried a certain warmth that morning, not from sunlight streaming through the curtains but from the simple, homely smell of freshly baked bread drifting out of the open kitchen. A faint sizzling followed, punctuating the silence. The place felt alive in a way Dylan rarely allowed it to, and yet he sat apart from it all—still, rigid, lost.
His elbow rested against the wooden table, hands steepled into a triangle before his face, eyes fixed on some distant, unreachable point. He looked as though he were trying to hold onto a world invisible to others. The noise, the aroma, the hum of the apartment—they did not touch him. He was in his own mind, wandering through something heavier than the present moment.
Then, all at once, a fresh sweetness reached him, almost playful in its intrusion. He tries to recognize it but failed as his mind was staring at another dimension. A calming fragrance slipped into his trance, forcing him to breathe deeper. An arm slid around his right shoulder, pulling him gently back to earth. The weight of it came to rest on his chest, grounding him. He blinked, startled, only to feel the soft brush of lips press against his cheek.
Dylan leaned into the touch instinctively, closing his eyes to savor it. A single exhale left him, easing the sharpness in his chest. In that heartbeat, he allowed himself to believe that Lena was not simply with him, she was a part of him, carved inside him forever.
"Morning, Dylan," Lena whispered, her voice carrying a happiness that warmed the edges of the room.
"Morning, Lena," he replied softly, his hand finding hers where it rested across him.
Her eyes, always searching, met his.
"Did you sleep well?" Lena looked into his eyes. Searching inside at very depth.
Ahh.. She is doing it again,
He studied her expression, the light curve of her lips, and for once he forgot the weight he carried.
"I did," he murmured.
"And you?"
She tilted her head, examining him closely, as though she could see more than he offered. Then, with a smile that curled shyly at the corners, she shifted, curling herself into his lap like she belonged there.
"Hmm," she hummed with a little nod.
"And you?"
His chest tightened. Always turning it back to him, always searching. He drew in her scent, steadying himself.
"Just good," he answered.
But she wasn't convinced. Her gaze lingered, her brow knitting slightly.
"Now tell me," she pressed,
"why you were so distant just now? I called you twice, Dylan, but you didn't listen."
Her lips formed a pout, more tender than stern.
The question tightened his chest again. It wasn't accusation—it was worry, and that made it harder to escape.
[Now what?] The voice in his mind whispered.
Dylan smiled faintly, lifting a hand to pat her head, pretending at ease while inside he was already scrambling for an answer. She was still staring at him, patient yet unrelenting. He opened his mouth.
"I was—"
The shrill tone of his phone interrupted, vibrating against the wooden table. He glanced at the name flashing across the screen. Gibbs.
He kissed Lena's forehead, carefully lifting her from his lap and guiding her onto the chair.
"Lena, stay here. I need to take this."
Though her pout deepened, she nodded, letting him slip away.
Out in the corridor, the air felt colder. Dylan lifted the phone to his ear, his voice shifting instantly to steel. Gibbs' tone came fast, packed with updates about Capaldi. Dylan listened sharply, interjecting with his own arguments where needed, his mind switching into the measured rhythm of interrogation and counter-argument. He wanted to interrogate them himself, the only cause that he is away from Capaldi. Every word mattered.
By the time the call ended, his head carried both relief and the thrum of unfinished work. The matters in Capaldi, the very reason he had come here with Lena, were as good as settled—for now. Yet certainty never sat easily with Dylan. Though He came here to Lena's wish to meet Eva.
Lowering the phone, he realized he had walked farther than he intended. He stood before Café Con, the familiar corner café just outside apartment block. Without thinking, he stepped inside and ordered three cups of hot milk coffee.
When he returned, the apartment was lighter with Lena's laughter echoing faintly inside.
Eva was talking to Lena about something funny that happened in her lab recently.
***
The Northern City: Leal
The Kingdom of Arizone
Later that day, the world around them changed entirely.
Dylan's hands tightened around the wheel as the car traced the curving road into the southern edge of Leal. Beside him, Lena watched the passing land with wide-eyed wonder, while Eva chattered lightly about the arrangements. Their destination loomed ahead—The Night Forest, a place both famed and forbidden.
Situated in the kingdom's north , it stretched endlessly, a sweep of shadowed trees and ancient ground. only twenty-six kilometers away, the Northern Sea lay frozen, a sheet of white that no longer moved with the tides. Dylan intended to see it before their tour ended, but for now, his thoughts lingered uneasily on the forest.
The Night Forest Park was the only part open to the public, a carefully contained portion of the larger wilderness. Beyond the boundary, the forest was forbidden—vast tracts closed off without permission, some said because of dangers not merely natural. Each day, only fifty groups were allowed entry into the Park, chosen carefully for safety.
As their car slowed into the crowded entrance, Dylan felt his chest constrict. Their team was already busy, security double-checking equipment, the guide briefing those who had gathered. The hum of voices rose, excitement and awe mingling.
Lena and Eva moved ahead toward their allotted group spot, their laughter bright against the dull murmur of the crowd. Dylan lingered by the car, reluctant. His instincts screamed against entering, against walking into those shadows.
He scanned the forest beyond the gates. The trees seemed taller than they should be, their trunks dark as if steeped in centuries of secrets. The canopy was so thick that even at midday, light cannot even makes its way pass it so does the snow whose passage was blocked by thick canopy, broken and trembling across the ground we're some fallen leaves. Mist curled low, weaving like silver threads between roots that jutted upward like bones. The land itself seemed alive, shifting in the quiet, breathing.
Legends claimed the soil here held memory—that if you stood still too long, you might hear voices of those who had stepped inside and never left.
Dylan drew a long breath. He wanted nothing of it.
But then Lena turned from the crowd, catching his eye. She lifted a hand, small and insistent, beckoning him forward. He swallowed, shoulders heavy, and walked to her. She smiled, slipping her hand into his, sliding both into the pocket of his coat as though she could anchor him there.
He tried, once more, to convince himself to skip the tour, to slip away unnoticed. But Lena had bound him with her silence earlier, threatening him with absence if he dared retreat. He could not stand that thought.
So he stood there, her hand warm against his, staring into the forest.
Somewhere beyond, the mist shifted strangely, curling against the dark line of trees as though something unseen had stirred it.
And in that quiet moment before they entered, Dylan felt—not for the first time,that the forest was watching them back.