Niah's POV:
The Next day by 10 a.m., I was already questioning every life choice that landed me in this dusty graveyard of paperwork, thanks to Father Delran's oh-so-thoughtful instructions. No coffee, no hope, just me and the Glast Parish files. Honestly, I should've called Jules for backup the second I walked in.
Zaire was already at the worktable, looking like he owned the place—coat flung over the chair, sipping something that probably tasted like burnt tree bark. He glared at a battered old parchment as if it had personally insulted his ancestors.
I dropped my tote with a sigh that could've won an Oscar. "You know, most people start the morning with a little small talk. Maybe even a 'hello'?"
Without missing a beat, Zaire replied, "I did say something. I said silence was a gift. You ignored it."
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained something. "You must be a riot at parties."
"I don't go to parties."
"Shocker, Mr. Brood."
I flopped into the chair across from him and instantly regretted it. His face was way too smug, and way too symmetrical, for this early in the day.
Dr. Elira had left us a mountain of ledgers to transcribe, most of which looked like they'd survived a fire, a flood, and maybe a minor haunting. I cracked one open, squinting at the faded ink. "Is this even English?"
"Technically, yeah. If English was written by spiders high on ink fumes."
"Lovely." I tilted the page. "Is that a 'B' or… a snail?"
"Doesn't matter," Zaire said, flipping a page without looking. "That ledger's upside down."
My head snapped up. "AGAIN?!"
He smirked like a cat in a sunbeam. "You're consistent, I'll give you that."
I chucked a pencil at his head. He caught it mid-air, with just two fingers and he didn't even look up.
I blinked at this, not beleving my eyes. "Okay… how did you do that?"
He finally looked at me, his smirk deepening. "That's called Reflex. It comes from working with dangerous people."
"And I'm the dangerous one?"
He met my eyes. "You make me consider homicide before breakfast. That's dangerous."
I made a face and turned back to the book, pretending not to be secretly impressed.
A few blessedly quiet minutes passed, until my ink bottle tipped over with a dramatic splat, splashing black across the page and, of course, onto Zaire's side of the table.
He stared at the spreading stain, then at me. I winced, bracing for the storm. "…Don't say it."
Zaire tilted his head, unimpressed. "You just ruined a century-old record."
"It was already ruined!" I tried, but even I didn't buy it.
"You weaponized ink."
"It was an accident!" I pouted, trying to look pitiful but mostly just hoping he wouldn't explode.
He dabbed at the mess with a scrap of cloth. "You're a walking, talking ink disaster. I should put a caution sign on you."
I opened my mouth for a comeback, but instead—sneezed. Violently.
"ACHOO—" The table shook, and Zaire's coffee teetered off the edge.
He caught the cup midair again, but a thin stream still splashed onto his notes.
He inhaled. Very slowly.
I slapped my hands over my mouth. "Oh no. I'm so—"
"Don't," he said, raising a hand. "Don't finish that sentence."
I hesitated, but come on, it's me. "…Sorry?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're lucky Father Delran likes you."
"I'm just charming," I said, grinning. "It's not my fault you're always grumpy."
Zaire exhaled sharply, adjusting his now coffee-stained pages. "I'm restrained. There's a difference."
Right then, the door creaked open and Jules peeked in, holding a basket of pastries like she was about to save us all.
"Did someone call for caffeine and sugar?" she asked, just in time.
I lit up. "Jules! Save me!", rasing both my arms open welcoming her.
Jules looked between me and Zaire, eyebrows climbing at the ink stains and coffee-streaked paper. "Wow. This looks so… productive."
"She's cursed," Zaire muttered.
"Hey, I'm gifted," I shot back.
Jules snorted. "Looks like you're both insane."
Zaire looked mildly offended. "Compared to her, I'm selectively sane."
"Only when she's not around?" Jules grinned, raising her brows.
His silence said it all.
I stuck out my tongue and snagged a croissant. "You love the chaos."
Zaire glanced at me, and for just a second, something flickered in his eyes, a tiny smile, barely there, but real.
Maybe he did, or maybe, we both did.
* * *
Maeve's Play (Just for Fun)
Author: Zaire, no, no, please don't pour the ink on me!
Zaire: If it weren't for you and your writing, I wouldn't be stuck with a goldfish head for a partner, dealing with her clumsiness.
Niah: Hey! Who are you calling goldfish head and clumsy, you idiot?
Zaire: Obviously you. Who else? But first, let me deal with this Author—then I'll get back to you. (opens ink bottle, aiming for Author's head)
Author: No, no, Zaire, you can't do that! Please! I'm sorry! OMG, someone help me… Wait—Jules, don't just stand there, help!
Jules: Well, you dug your own grave. What am I supposed to do? I'll just wish you luck. (gives a thumbs up, smirking)
Author: What? You're just going to smirk at me? Fine, just wait, future chapters are coming, and I'm plotting my revenge.
Jules: Wait, what? What are you planning? Answer me!
Author: You'll see. For now, readers, please like, comment, and support my book while I escape Mr. Brooding! (runs away)
Jules: Hey! Don't run—answer me first! (chases after Author, demanding answers)
* * *