Page 48 of Autumn L.A.W

“I notice things,” he said simply.

She took a sip of water to buy time. “It’s sun-bleaching,” she said. “The mansion gets a lot of sun, and I was outside more than usual, babysitting an obelisk on the back lawn.”

“It suits you,” he said.

He didn’t say it like a flirtation. He said it like an observation. She wouldn’t have minded the compliment if it had sounded more like one.

Sahara looked down at her stew. “We should go over those rules you mentioned.”

He nodded, as if grateful to retreat into structure. “All right.”

She leaned back, her bowl cradled loosely in her hands. “Rule one: neither of us handles the obelisk alone. Ever. No matter how confident we feel.”

“Agreed,” he said. “Rule two: if the imprint escalates, you tell me immediately. Even if you think you can manage it.”

“That cuts both ways,” she said. “If your magic starts picking up signals, you tell me.”

His mouth twitched. “Deal. Rule three: sleep happens. Real sleep. Not ‘I closed my eyes for seven minutes, and now I’m fine’ sleep.”

“I feel judged,” she said.

“Do you need to be?” he replied.

She pretended to think. “Rule four: if one of us gets weird, the other is allowed to say so.”

“What’s the threshold for ‘weird’?” he asked.

“You start talking in full obelisk,” she said. “Or chanting. Or telling me the sea is our mother, and we should become one with her.”

He sighed. “I say that one time…”

“You’ve never said that,” she said, amused. “But if you do, I will hit you with a stale roll.”

He glanced at the sad basket of bread. “Those might be lethal.”

“Then behave,” she said.

He inclined his head, conceding the point.

The cook passed by with a coffeepot that looked like it had survived at least one war. He poured Sahara a cup without asking. The liquid was dark enough to be a shade of black.

Sahara cupped the mug and inhaled cautiously. “Will it kill me?” she asked.

“Unlikely,” Ezra said. “But you may see sounds for a while.”

She took a sip. It was strong. Bitter. She felt her soul brace for impact.

“Oh,” she said faintly. “That’s… effective.”

Ezra watched her with clear amusement. “Do you need a moment?”

“No,” she said, blinking. “I can make it feel like fun.”

For a while, they simply sat there, drinking coffee that could strip paint, existing in the same space. It was easy in a way life rarely was. At least her life. Maybe Ezra’s was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel like a test. What must that be like?

Sahara set down her mug. “Rule five,” she said.

Ezra raised a brow. “There’s a rule five?”