Page 80 of Aïdes the Unseen
While he wasn’t lying, hewasholding something back.
Something vast and older than the language we used. Something throbbed beneath his skin, wild and insistent, like a lost current trying to surge back to its source.
Gods. Powers Monsters. Life. Death. I swallowed hard. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For telling me that.”
His shoulders eased a fraction. “You said you wanted something real.”
“I did. I do.” I meant it, even if it scared me a little. Even if it felt like we were standing at the edge of a cliff and daring each other to jump. The moment lingered. The birds in the trees went silent, just for a beat. Like they knew something was shifting too.
Then—
“Irina.”
Lukas’s voice called from behind us. Bright. Familiar and laced with a knowing I didn’t like.
“You forgot your biscotti,” he said, holding out a small plate. He winked. “Thought maybe your friend might need something to sweeten him up.”
Graven’s expression didn’t shift, but the tension rolled back in like a tide.
This time, it wasn’t subtle.
I rose to take the plate, offering a neutral smile in return. “Thanks, Lukas.”
“You know where to find me,” he said, his gaze landing just a little too long on Graven before he turned and sauntered back inside.
I sat again, feeling like the sun had gone behind a cloud.
Graven didn’t speak, though his knuckles were white where he gripped the cup now.
The puppy exhaled and stood, positioning himself once more between the two of us and the door to the café. Protective. Watchful.
I looked at Graven and tilted my head slightly. “Still doing okay?”
He let out a slow breath. “That depends,” he said, eyes on me now. “Are you going to keep asking me things that matter?”
I smiled, even if it felt a little like standing too close to a flame. “Yes,” I said.
This time, he smiled too. I let the silence breathe for a few moments.
Graven sipped his coffee again, slower this time, like the act itself grounded him. The sun was beginning to break more boldly through the trellis above us, scattering gold over the table, glinting off his dark coat like flecks of embers had landed and didn’t quite want to go out.
I didn’t look away from him. “Can I ask you something else?”
His brow lifted slightly. “You already did.”
“Another something.”
He gave a single nod, quiet and consenting. That almost-smile hovered again, like it was learning how to live on his face.
I curled my fingers around the mug, suddenly aware of how tightly I kept holding my own breath.
“Do you even enjoy what you do?” I asked, voice soft. “The work you talked about—the decisions, the weight. It sounds like you do it because you must. But if you could choose—reallychoose—what would you do instead? What’s something you’ve always wanted to do… and never let yourself try?”
That got him.
He didn’t flinch. But his stillness sharpened. For the briefest moment, the air seemed to tighten around us, like a net had been cast. I wanted to dismiss the sensation, but I didn’t dare. So much I didn’t understand intellectually, yet my gut seemed to comprehend.
Graven set his mug down gently. Then he leaned back, eyes never leaving mine. His posture didn’t threaten. It invited. “You want another truth,” he said, thoughtful. “A deep one.”
