The silence on the terrace wasn't because of the wind dying down. It was because the air itself had become too heavy to carry sound.
Valerica Sol stood at the edge of their table.
She didn't look like a student enjoying a day off. She looked like a queen in exile. Her amethyst hair was pulled back in a severe, high ponytail that swung like a pendulum when she moved. Her dark eyes scanned the commercial district with a mixture of confusion and disdain.
She wasn't leaking gravity, she was too good for that, but she contained it so poorly that the coffee in Isole's cup had gone perfectly flat, the surface tension crushed by her proximity.
Vane didn't stand up. He didn't reach for a weapon. He just kicked the empty plastic chair next to him away from the table.
"You look terrible," Vane said, by way of greeting.
Valerica looked at the cheap chair. She looked at Vane. Then she sat down with a sigh that sounded like a collapsing building.
