of their aunt leading the Patrons, along with her latest reprimand.
With Eva gone, the letters grew shorter.
Daron still read them, alone. He’d thought it might provide him a sense of ease as he sat in the café of the Prima Hotel, glittering in the cold morning light. Instead, the opposite coursed through him. He was the one dark spot amid the bustling sea of happily filled seats and tables. He couldn’t relax. He overlooked his small spread of untouched bread and barely sipped coffee, his eyes constantly flitting to the staircase.
Still no sign.
His foot twitched impatiently. It was starting to hit the two-hour mark since he’d first sat down, and he wouldn’t have even noticed were it not for the deep creases of his aunt’s letter from all the times he’d folded and unfolded it. Or the confused waiter who kept returning for refills, only to find his coffee cup full. At this point, it would evaporate under the morning sun beaming down through the crystal glass ceiling.
Get up, you fool.
His body wouldn’t obey. Whenever something did not sit right with him, it rooted inside heavy as stone. Until he found reason to move, he would simply sit with his thoughts, for the reason had not yet walked down the stairs.
Daron pressed at his forehead. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him—now more than ever, after last night’s assumption. There was no denying that Kallia was beautiful. Much like a viper, and she’d accused him with all the venom of one, too.
Usually Daron was impervious to all kinds of barbs. Being in the spotlight made you the target of so many, but the one she’d speared him with stung. He owned that he wasn’t a perfect gentleman, but he detested anyone who went around hunting like a foul-minded scoundrel in the night. No one deserved to be sought out like prey, to be expected to fall freely into the jaws of the beast simply because it was hungry.
He’d come to Kallia to properly apologize, and left being accused of just that.
The thought burned like acid in his throat, a wrongness searing through. The malice with which she said it, the kind that actors employed as villains on the stage.
Something wasn’t right.
Daron had heard a scream from her room. Along with a chorus of crashes and thuds that forced him out of his door and close to knocking down hers. And when Kallia answered, cool-tongued as usual, he thought maybe he had imagined the chaos.
But there was no imagining the line of kohl smudged roughly at her eyelids. Her hand clawing at the door, prepared to shut it in his face or run from what lay on the other side.
Fear.
A secret not even her best masks could hide.
Daron jerked at a thick wooden screech. A young man casually pulled the other chair out across from him. Tall and lanky, he whistled and raked his fingers through his jet-black hair, which did not make his appearance any less bedraggled.
“Morning, judge.” He yawned, plopping down in the seat. “Mind if I join?”
Stunned by the intrusion, Daron frantically folded the letter for the last time and slid it into his pocket. It took him a second to place the angular face with sleek, dark eyes, and the light-as-air attitude that said he didn’t give a single damn about anything.
Kallia’s assistant.
“Do I have a choice?” Daron countered, equally dry.
“Actually, I’m the one all out of choices. Rest of the tables are full.” The assistant gestured at the café’s scattered spread of tables that Daron could’ve sworn had not been occupied the last time he checked. Then again, much of the first floor had all but vanished for him except for the stairs.
The assistant tsked in amusement as if he could hear his thoughts, before they darted eagerly to the bread sitting between them.
“Stay, then.” Daron pushed the plate forward. “Fresh bread is a poor thing to waste.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” The assistant grinned rather triumphantly, relaxing back.
Daron lightly tapped at his chin, surprised. There was something easier about his manner today. The last few times they’d interacted were about as warm as watching two cats in a cage ignoring one another.
Now, they were each other’s dining company.
The young man grabbed the slab of bread from the plate, tearing off a chunk with his teeth. Tried to, at least. His face crinkled slightly at the hard crunch. “Fresh bread, my ass. How long has this been out?”