Page 48 of Aïdes the Unseen
I didn’t turn around.
“You’re early,” I said.
A pause. A footstep. Soft, deliberate.
“I thought you’d appreciate the gesture.” He emerged slowly into view—elegant, sharp-featured, with that kind of ageless calm you only find in gods and assassins. Dressed in a tailored storm-gray coat, hair pulled back, eyes faintly golden in the dark.
Thales.
At least, that’s the name he was using this century.
“Your reports say she’s stabilizing,” he said, walking to the sideboard and pouring himself a drink without asking.
“She hasn’t begun to fragment,” I replied. “And the simulations haven’t split. That’s the most I can ask for.”
“The dog?”
I glanced at him. He already knew.
“Unbidden. Not sent by me.”
He took a sip of his drink—some amber thing I didn’t recognize. “You’re sure it wasn’t sent bythem?”
“No.” I gave a shrug. I wanted to investigate, but what if it didn’t recognize me? That could be worse.
Thales set the glass down with a deliberateclink. “Then they’re not moving faster than we thought.”
“I’ve been ahead of them this time. I’ve bought us months.”
He studied me for a long moment. “If she doesn’t remember? Not this time.”
“She always remembers,” I said quietly. “Eventually.”
“You say that like it’s a blessing.”
I didn’t answer.
He walked the room slowly, fingers trailing across the bookshelves. He always moved like he was inspecting something ancient and sacred—and a little bit fragile. His reverence was genuine. For once, that didn’t comfort me.
“You’ve lost her before, Graven. Repeatedly.”
“I know.”
“Then why—this time—are you still building toward something that can break you?”
I looked at him now. Fully. Met his gaze.
“Because if I don’t,” I said, “someone else will decide how this story ends.” I would allowno oneelse that power.
The storm outside began to gather in earnest. Not loud. Not dangerous. But heavy. Predictive models suggested a mild front. They were wrong. This wasn’t just weather—it was memory taking shape again.
Her name—Bloom—was so appropriate. She was the blossoming. Someone—orsomething—wanted to cut the stem before she ever flowered. The storm outside began to hum against the glass.
Thales remained standing. He never stayed long enough to sit. Or maybe he just didn’t want to appear settled in my house. He was a friend, or as close to one as beings like us could claim. But loyalty among immortals was rarely about affection. It was about timing. Strategy. Mutual loss.
“You’re unusually confident,” he said. “That doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not confident,” I replied. “I’m prepared.”
