The ice cream parlor was filled by families with sticky-faced toddlers, teenagers huddled in gossiping clusters, and couples leaning toward each other across small tables. We sat at one such table, our shopping bags crowded around our feet like eager pets. Amelia spooned a bite of her triple chocolate creation, while I worked on my simple vanilla bean.
I watched a father wipe his daughter's face as she giggled, ice cream smeared across her cheeks. Something about the scene struck me as painfully normal. Here we were, looking like any other couple on a weekend date—except one of us was a half-demon who could drain life force with a touch, and the other was some kind of supernatural enforcer who could manipulate gravity on a whim.
"What's funny?" Amelia asked, catching my faint smile.
"Just thinking about how weird this is. A few hours ago, I assimilated a phantom. Now we're eating ice cream like regular people."
"And you find that amusing?"
"I find it surreal." I gestured at our surroundings with my spoon. "This feels more intimate than anything else today."
Amelia's spoon paused halfway to her mouth. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she took another bite, studying me over the utensil. She savored the chocolate with the focused appreciation of someone who genuinely enjoyed life's pleasures.
"I have a question for you," she said. "This mall is crawling with thousands of people. A feast for someone like you." She glanced around at the crowded shop. "Yet you haven't shown a single sign of losing control with them. You haven't even looked tempted. Why?"
I followed her gaze around the room, taking in all the pulsing life force that surrounded us. Each person glowed with their unique energy signature, some brighter than others, some tinged with different emotional colors. But it was like looking at a buffet after you've already spotted the one dish you actually want.
I turned back to Amelia and gave her my best deadpan expression.
"You're seriously asking me that?"
She raised an eyebrow, waiting for elaboration.
I leaned forward, dropping my voice so only she could hear. "You drag me through a high-stakes fashion battle, make me your personal stylist for weapons-grade swimwear, and then parade around in a bikini that could probably be classified as a controlled substance. And you want to know why I wasn't distracted by the background noise?"
Her lips parted slightly, a rare glimpse of surprise on her normally composed face.
"That's like asking someone why they aren't admiring the house plants while the room is on fire," I continued. "There's a hierarchy for my attention, and you know exactly where you fall on it."
Amelia's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then a slow smile spread across her face. She stirred her melting ice cream, considering me with new interest.
"So what you're saying is..." she trailed off, uncharacteristically leaving a thought incomplete.
"What I'm saying is that it's easy not to be hungry for hamburger when there's a five-star meal sitting across from you."
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted their bluntness. But Amelia didn't seem offended. Instead, she looked pleased in a way that transcended her usual satisfaction at being right.
"That's fascinating," she said softly, almost to herself. "The focus mechanism is adapting to quality, not quantity."
"English, please?"
She took another bite of ice cream, gathering her thoughts. "Your hunger doesn't work how I expected. I thought you'd be overwhelmed by the volume of potential energy sources here. Instead, you're automatically filtering based on potency." She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "Soon you won't need to control your urges around these people because they barely register compared to higher-quality sources."
"Higher-quality sources meaning you."
"Exactly." She pointed her spoon at me. "My energy is like... hmm... wagyu beef compared to convenience store jerky. Your instincts are naturally prioritizing."
"So this whole trip was another test?" I asked, unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed.
"Everything is a test, Isaiah. Life is one big ongoing evaluation." She waved her hand dismissively. "But yes, I wanted to see how you'd handle sustained exposure to crowds after your feeding abilities awakened. I expected you to struggle. Instead..."
"Instead, I was too busy being tortured by you to notice anyone else."
She laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Not torture. Training. Very different things."
"Could've fooled me." I finished my ice cream, trying to look nonchalant despite the way my heart was racing. "So did I pass this test too?"
"With unexpected results." She dabbed her lips with a napkin. "You're adapting faster than any shaman I've ever seen. It's actually quite remarkable."
"Lucky me."
"Lucky both of us," she corrected, standing and gathering her bags. "Now, I believe I promised you a movie."
The theater was dark and half-empty, the latest action blockbuster playing to an audience of mostly teenage boys and couples looking for an excuse to cuddle in the dark. We sat in the back row, our shopping tucked safely under our seats.
On screen, a muscle-bound hero dodged an explosion that would have vaporized anyone subject to actual physics. I barely registered the plot. My attention was fixed on Amelia beside me.
She'd chosen the seat, her arm resting casually against mine on our shared armrest. The flickering light from the screen played across her face, illuminating the soft curve of her cheek, the slight parting of her lips when something surprised her.
For the first time since I'd met her, there was no test, no lesson, no power play. We were just two people sitting in a dark theater, watching things blow up on screen.
"You're not watching the movie," she whispered without looking at me.
"Neither are you," I replied, noticing how her eyes had drifted toward me several times.
She smiled faintly, her gaze returning to the screen. "It's not very good."
"Then why did you pick it?"
"Sometimes," she said softly, "it's nice to do something without any deeper meaning or purpose. Just... existence without expectation."
===
We walked back to Shinra House as evening settled over the campus. The air had cooled, and stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky.
"You know," I said as we approached the house, "this is probably the most normal day I've had since meeting you."
"Disappointed?" she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.
"Relieved, actually. It's nice to know there's still room for ordinary things in this new life."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Balance is important. Power without perspective becomes hollow."
"Is that from some ancient shaman text?"
"No," she laughed softly. "Personal experience."
We reached the front door, and Amelia stopped, turning to face me. The porch light cast a gentle glow over her features, softening the edges of her usual intensity. Her eyes searched mine, suddenly serious.
"You did well today, Isaiah," she said, and there was a new warmth in her voice, a genuine respect that hadn't been there before. "Better than I ever expected."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I mean it." She set down her bags, stepping closer. "Most people with your abilities would be dangerous, unstable. You're... different."
Before I could respond, she leaned in, closing the distance between us. Her lips met mine, soft and questioning. Not demanding or controlling, but inviting. My hands found her waist instinctively, drawing her closer as the kiss deepened.
She tasted like chocolate ice cream and something uniquely her—something powerful and intoxicating. A small sound escaped her throat as she pressed against me, her fingers threading through my hair. The hunger inside me surged, but it wasn't the predatory craving I'd felt before. This was something different, something more human.
When she finally pulled away, her breathing had quickened, and her eyes had darkened to storm-cloud gray. She looked almost vulnerable in that moment, a side of her I'd never seen.
"That," she whispered, "was the real reward."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "For passing your test?"
She shook her head slowly as she stepped back, retrieving her bags. "Good night, Isaiah."
I watched her disappear into the house, leaving me standing on the doorstep with the taste of her still on my lips. I touched my mouth with my fingertips, half convinced I'd imagined the whole thing.
The hunger inside me had changed shape, transformed into something more complex and infinitely more dangerous. Tests I could handle. Training I could endure. But this—this feeling that had nothing to do with demonic energy or supernatural power—this was territory for which I had no map.
As I finally followed her into the house, I realized that I was in far more danger now than I had ever been before. Not from phantoms or demons or my own awakening powers, but from the woman with pink hair and beautiful purple eyes.