The quiet peace that had settled over the safe house didn't last long. And really, no one expected it to.
Outside Esme's door, down the lantern-lit corridor where shadows danced against cracked walls, another storm was already brewing.
"I cannot believe," Sylen hissed, his voice sharp enough to cut stone, "that you— you—think you can just walk away from all of this like it's some…some afternoon tea!"
Jules, standing stubbornly in his path, yanked her jacket tighter around her shoulders. She didn't even blink at the sharp edges of his tone, she was getting very good at not flinching around Sylen.
"I'm not walking away," she snapped, her tone edged with steel. "I'm being practical. Something you clearly wouldn't recognise if it hit you over the head."
Sylen's golden eyes narrowed, his irritation crackling around him like a charged storm cloud.
"Running off to your pathetic shop full of potted plants is practical?" he spat, his words dripping like venom. "Maybe you missed the memo, human, but the world is ending!"
Jules crossed her arms and tilted her head, a dangerous glint in her eyes. Oh, she was so ready for this.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty of Flaming Tantrums," she said sweetly, her words dipped in poison. "I did not realise having actual responsibilities was such a foreign concept to you."
Sylen looked like someone had smacked him in the face with a wet fish. Smoke might as well have been curling out of his ears.
"You think—" he sputtered, visibly holding himself back from throwing something, "you think your dammed flowers are more important than holding the Veil together?!"
Jules shrugged, her smirk sharp and wicked. "Maybe. If you would spend less time setting things on fire and more time appreciating living things, we might not be in this mess."
Sylen made a sound that was somewhere between a growl, a groan, and something that might've been an ancient curse. For a brief, glorious moment, it looked like he was going to explode into flame and frustration right there in the hallway.
Instead, he raked both hands through his hair and turned away with a sharp, "Unbelievable!" His muttering dissolved into furious words in languages Jules didn't care to understand.
"You're impossible," he finally grumbled, still refusing to look at her.
"And you're exhausting," she shot back instantly, her tone bright and cheerful, as if they were exchanging compliments.
They stood there, facing off in silence, the air between them vibrating with exasperation, unspoken words, and something neither of them particularly wanted to name.
Finally, Jules adjusted her bag on her shoulder. Her face shifted with the quiet weight of the decision she was making.
"I'll be back," she said, quieter now. "Someone has to make sure the world we're trying to save still has something worth coming back to. And please inform Niah that I will be back soon."
Sylen stared at her for a long moment, his golden eyes burning, his jaw tight. And then, to Jules' absolute satisfaction, there it was, something else flickered in his expression. Annoyance, yes, but layered with something reluctant. Almost worried.
"Don't get yourself killed over some stupid shop," he muttered at last.
Jules grinned, stepping toward the door. "Don't burn the house down while I'm gone, Your Majesty," she retorted.
With that, she shoved open the door, letting the grey morning light spill inside. The door slammed shut behind her with a satisfying thud.
Sylen stared after her for an uncomfortable amount of time, his hands clenched at his sides like he was trying and failing to swallow his irritation.
Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he spun on his heel and stormed back toward the common room, muttering under his breath about "humans" and "stupid plants."
* * *
When Esme woke a few hours later, peace settled over her like a fragile, borrowed cloak,
Sylen was the one hovering near the doorway. He looked awkward, standing with his arms crossed like he was trying to guard the door instead of her. He refused to meet her gaze at first, as if the idea of talking about something that mattered was deeply offensive to him.
"She's gone," he said bluntly.
Esme blinked, still groggy from sleep. "Who?"
"Your stupid friend, Jules," Sylen snapped. "She left. Back to her little flower shop or whatever. Said something ridiculous about 'Saving something worth coming back to.'"
He rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck that way.
Esme's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "She'll be back," Esme said softly.
Sylen muttered something under his breath, low, but suspiciously close to, "She better."
Then, with another huff that was at least 40% performative, he stalked off, leaving Esme smiling after him.
Because, of course, she saw far more than he ever intended her to.
* * *