The safehouse was dark. Only one lamp burned on the table. It cast a circle of yellow light. Everything outside that circle was shadow. Dante sat in the center of the light. Papers were spread before him. Maps. Routes. Schedules. He was tracing a line with a pen. The ink was black. The paper was white. His hand did not shake.
Sophie sat across from him. She was not working. She was reading a book. The cover was worn. The pages were soft. She turned a page. The sound was quiet. Like a breath escaping. They did not speak. They had not spoken for an hour. The silence was not empty. It was heavy. It was shared. It felt like a blanket.
The clock on the wall ticked. One second. Two seconds. The sound asured the night. Outside, the rain had stopped. The city was sleeping. Only this room was awake. Dante looked up. He watched her read. Her hair fell over her face. She tucked it behind her ear. The movent was slow. Natural. He morized the gesture.
Kairo: Observation noted.
Dante: Stop.
Kairo: Data is being stored.
Dante: Do not store it.
He looked back at the map. He tried to focus on the route. He tried to think about Sector Five. But his mind drifted. It drifted to the woman across the table. It drifted to the quiet. Sophie shifted in her chair. The wood creaked softly. She closed the book. She placed it on the table. She did not stand up. She did not leave. She leaned forward. Her eyes were tired. The shadows under them were dark. She had been watching him watch her. She knew.
She stood up. She walked around the table. Her footsteps were silent on the floor. She stopped beside his chair. Dante did not move. He kept his hands on the map. She sat on the edge of the table. Not on a chair. On the table. Next to his arm. The heat from her body radiated. He could feel it through his coat. She tilted her head. Slowly. Carefully. She rested it against his shoulder. The weight was slight. But it felt heavy. It anchored him.
Dante froze. His muscles locked. His breath stopped in his chest. He was afraid to move. He was afraid to breathe. If he moved, she might pull away. If he breathed, he might break the spell.
Mūn: Do not move.
Dante: I cannot.
Mūn: Stay still. Let this exist.
He looked straight ahead. He looked at the wall. He did not look at her. If he looked, he might want more. If he looked, he might speak. He wanted to stay in the silence. Sophie closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed. It matched the tick of the clock. In. Out. In. Out. She was resting. She was safe. Dante felt the warmth on his shoulder. It seeped through the fabric. It ward his skin. It ward his blood. For a mont, the cold was gone. The mission was gone. The demons were quiet.
Kairo: This is dangerous.
Dante: Why.
Kairo: Attachnt creates vulnerability.
Dante: It creates strength.
Kairo: It creates a target.
Dante ignored the voice. He focused on the weight. He focused on the heat. He wanted to keep this. He wanted to hold it forever.
Kairo: You cannot.
Dante: Watch .
Kairo: The cost is due.
Dante: Not tonight.
Kairo’s voice changed. It beca softer. Almost gentle. It sounded like pity.
Kairo: This is the one they will take first.
Dante’s heart stopped. The words hung in the air. They cut through the warmth. They cut through the silence. This is the one they will take first. The mont on his shoulder. The weight of her head. The sll of her hair. The quiet of the room. All of it. Gone. Dante pressed his hand flat against the table. His palm hit the wood. Hard. The sound was dull. Sophie did not wake. She did not move.
He looked at the notebook. It lay open nearby. The pages were waiting. The pen was ready. He could write it down. He could save it in ink. Item: She rested on my shoulder. Ti: 03:00 AM. Location: Safehouse. He could describe the weight. He could describe the heat. He could describe the peace. But words were not enough. Words were cold. Words were dead. This mont was alive. It was breathing. It was real. If he wrote it, it beca a record. If he wrote it, it beca a mory of a mory. He wanted the mory itself.
He picked up the pen. He hovered it over the paper. The ink waited to flow. His hand trembled. Just slightly. He put the pen down. He did not write. He closed the notebook. The leather cover snapped shut.
Mūn: Why did you stop.
Dante: Because so things cannot be saved.
Mūn: Then you will lose them.
Dante: Then I will live them while I have them.
He sat still. He did not move his shoulder. He did not shift his weight. He beca a statue. He beca a pillar. He would hold her until she woke. He would hold her until the sun ca. The lamp flickered. The light dimd. The shadows grew longer. The night deepened. Ti moved forward. But this mont stayed. Sophie stirred. She lifted her head. Slowly. She looked at him. Her eyes were gray. They were clear.
Did I fall asleep, she asked. Her voice was rough. It was quiet.
For a little, Dante said. His voice was low. It did not shake.
Sophie sat up. She rubbed her eyes. She looked at the map. She looked at the notebook. It was closed. You did not write, she said. It was an observation. Not a question.
No, Dante said.
Why.
Dante looked at her. He looked at her face. He tried to burn it into his mind. He tried to etch it into his bone. So things are not for paper, he said. Sophie understood. She did not ask again. She stood up. She picked up her book. I will make coffee, she said. It is late. Yes, Dante said.
She walked to the kitchen. The lights clicked on. The sound of water running. The sound of cups clinking. Dante sat alone in the circle of light. The map was still there. The pen was still there. The notebook was closed. He touched his shoulder. The warmth was fading. The heat was leaving. The cold was coming back.
Kairo: It begins.
Dante: Not yet.
Kairo: Soon.
Dante: I know.
He looked at the closed notebook. He would not open it tonight. He would not write tonight. He would keep this one thing. He would keep it in his body. He would keep it in his blood. Even if it was taken. Even if it was erased. For now, it was his. For now, it was real. Sophie returned with the coffee. She placed the cup near his hand. The steam rose. It curled in the light.
Drink, she said.
Dante picked up the cup. He held it with both hands. It was warm. Like her head had been. He drank. The coffee was bitter. It tasted like the night. It tasted like the truth. He set the cup down. He looked at Sophie. She was watching him. She knew. She knew what he was losing. She knew what he was keeping.
Thank you, he said.
Always, she said.
She sat back down. She opened her book. The silence returned. It was different now. It was heavier. It was precious. Dante looked at the map. He picked up the pen. He did not write. He just held it. He waited for the sun. He waited for the loss. He waited for the end. But for this night. For this hour. He was whole. He was human. He was enough. The clock ticked. One second. Two seconds. The night moved on. But the mory stayed. For now.
A/N Thank you for reading Chapter 43! A quiet mont before the storm. Dante chose to live the mory instead of writing it. Will Kairo take it as promised? Drop your thoughts in the comnts! Don’t forget to add Shadow Contract to your library and vote with power stones. See you in Chapter 44!
User Comments
0 comments from readers