The Wind Had Teeth Out Here.

She doesn’t look up right away — not until she’s sure Shiv’s breathing hasn’t shifted. The hand she has curled around theirs is loose, careful, but still tethered. Still there. Her other palm stays pressed lightly against their forehead, thumb brushing idle circles in the spaces where fever once bloomed and the dream still holds.

There’s no magic shimmering off her skin, nothing obvious left to trace. But if Juniper looks close enough, she’ll see the cost of it.

The edges of Irene look worn thin — not just tired, but unraveling in the kind of way that happens when sleep becomes an afterthought and the body forgets how to want for itself. The dark circles under her eyes have taken on a kind of permanence, bruised at the corners. Her skin's a touch too pale. Shoulders tight, like they haven't dropped in days. She hasn’t eaten. Juniper knows that already.

But it’s Sage — bounding toward her with that small, determined reach — that finally draws something faint from her; a breath that’s not a sigh, a look that’s not a wince. Just something softer.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Irene murmurs, voice like old parchment, quiet but not cold. She shifts an arm, carefully freeing it so she can scoop Sage up, letting the little raccoon settle warm and insistent against her chest. Her eyes flutter shut for half a second as she leans back, just barely. Not quite rest. Not quite surrender. But close.

Juniper’s voice cuts gently into the silence, and Irene opens her eyes again — slow, steady. She watches her lower the food to the table like it's some quiet ritual, the way she does every day now. It hits her, again, that quiet kind.

“You don’t have to do that,” Irene says after a beat. Her voice is hoarse, roughened by disuse and wear. “I hope you know that.”

But she doesn’t push it. Doesn’t turn it into guilt or refusal. There’s no sharpness in the words, just fatigue wrapped in something… just grateful. It lingers unspoken between them.

Her hand drifts back to Shiv’s again, grounding herself. She doesn’t say how long she’s been keeping the spell woven tight around them. Doesn’t mention the tremor that runs faint and quiet through her wrist every now and then, the kind that comes from channeling too long without pause. She doesn’t need to.

“I’m managing,” she says finally. Barely above a whisper. A tired smile ghosts across her face, faint but real, eyes flicking toward Sage, who’s now curled half into the fabric of her sweater like she belongs there. "And Shiv's fine. Enjoying a day at the beach."

It’s not a lie.

Her gaze returns to Juniper then — not guarded, not armored. Just open, just tired. And maybe a little surprised she’s still being looked after, too. "How are you?"

When: June 10th, afternoon Where: Crow & Chalice Who: @ireneclermont

Juniper was spread pretty thin since the storm, she was splitting her time between the cafe construction and Theras shop. She didn’t know why this hunter was important to Thera. It left a bit of a sour taste in her mouth honestly. But she trusted the older witch. She would just need to keep a close eye. 

Another close eye she needed to keep was on Irene. To say Juniper was surprised when the apothecary showed up was an understatement. She worked some kind of magic and should have been on her way. But she stayed, and it gave Juniper a chance to observe. One of the first things she observed was how tense Irene was, all the time. Her relaxed attitude was less relaxed and more anxiously apathetic. 

She also hardly ate, spending hours in the back of the shop with the hunter, not a bite to eat, not a sip to drink. So it became a routine. On her way between stores after making sure the day's work was going well she would pick up lunch for the three of them. Irene never asked. Juniper never minded. 

Today she brought Sage with her. The weather was nice and the critter was getting restless in the apartment. Juniper couldn’t blame her. Walking into the shop she dropped Thera's lunch in the fridge before heading upstairs to the guest room. A room she had once stayed in herself. Immediately Sage was off her shoulders and approaching Irene. Arms up asking to be lifted. 

“How are you both doing today?” She asked as she entered. Setting their lunches down on a side table and taking a seat herself with a heavy sigh. She knew the hunter was doing well, between the three of them he was probably doing better than expected. She was more asking Irene, but didn't want to be too direct.

“You did well, Sammy.”

She said it simply, without fanfare, like it was just fact. Something settled and clear in the way her eyes held his for a beat longer than usual. No forced comfort. No bright shine of false reassurance. Just the truth, level and quiet in the space between them.

“Really well.”

She glanced down, brushing a thumb over a faint smear of glitter still clinging to the edge of her sleeve. Some remnant of the barrier charm she’d used earlier, maybe. Or the one layered under Shiv’s pillow that kept the shadows at bay when the dream got too loud. “If it were him sitting here instead of me,” she said, voice lower now, “He’d tell you the same thing. Probably with less patience and more cursing. But still.” That corner of her mouth tugged up faintly again — a tired, knowing thing. “He’d be proud.”

Then she leaned back just a little, letting her shoulders rest against the chair for once. Not relaxed, but less coiled. Her gaze shifted toward the back window again, where the twins were now throwing something suspiciously frog-shaped into a bucket. She didn’t comment.

“As for Thera…”

A breath. The pause didn’t come from hesitation, but weight — that care Irene always took before she said something that mattered.

“She’s alright. I checked. Whatever you’re worried about — the spillover, the pull — it’s not hurting her. She’s… stronger than most people think.”

She looked back at him, something quiet and resolute in her eyes now.

“I wouldn’t let her carry it alone if I thought it was tipping too far. I go there every day. Watch Shiv. Sit with him. Make sure he's protected and it's known.”

It was an admission, maybe more than she’d meant to offer. But Sammy had earned it. With the way he was holding everything else up. With the fact that he hadn’t cracked, even with the waiting. Even with the helplessness.

“We can't let this bring her trouble,” she added, firmer now. “And you shouldn’t lose sleep over it either. He’s… stable. And Thera’s not alone. But yeah, let's keep this less complicated than it already is.”

Another breath. She nudged the napkin on the table once, then let it go.

“You’re doing what he can’t right now. And that matters more than you know.”

Her voice softened again, brushing at the edge of something like reassurance — not in the way people usually offered it, but in the way Irene knew how. Real. Tangible.

“He’s going to need someone steady when he wakes up. Not just someone who can bring him up to speed. Someone who was here.”

And then, after a beat, the smallest tilt of her head.

“And you’re here.”

Not worse was better than dead, at least. He nodded, filing that away and trying not to show any disappointment. Hope wasn’t going to help much, not unless there was some sort of emotion witch out there who could turn it into healing energy. If there was, the Brotherhood would already have some kind of deal with them, and they’d be here in Port Leiry, looking after Mr. Shiv. 

“He’s under constant watch, then?” She might have meant something different by he’s not alone in there, but Sammy wasn’t equipped to follow magic medical situations, not right now. Irene had said it like it was a good thing, and he knew she really cared, so the best he could do is assume it means he’s not possessed. “That’s good. I sent Ms. Wendell some of the guidelines for coma care. That’ll help with quality of life stuff, muscle cramps, nutrition. It’ll help when he wakes up.” When. He wasn’t comfortable hovering in the land of what ifs. “Knowing him, he’s going to try to fight something the second he wakes up, this’ll stop him from tearing something immediately.”

She reassured him of her seriousness, as if there was a world where he didn’t already trust her on this. Irene may be frustratingly withholding sometimes, but she wasn’t a liar. She always said what needed to be said, when it really mattered. 

A shriek from outside drew his attention, but neither of the twins were hurt. Mud was being thrown around, but that was par for the course with what was probably a very epic battle to them. “I.. yeah, I know, I’m needed here.” Was he? The station had a daycare, the twins could have just as much fun throwing around some legos as they would mud. “I’m going to try to keep everyone updated on his status, though. I don’t think birds are very reliable for sending messages to Ms. Wendell if I have any questions.” 

He paused as she repeated her question about his wellbeing. How was he holding up? “I... I wish there was more I could do. At the moment. I don’t like having a lot of free time, and everyone else is involved in trying to figure out what happened to him and picking up the slack while he’s gone. I’m in that midpoint where nobody really needs me to do anything, but I’m aware enough to know that there’s stuff to be done that I can’t do.”

She hadn’t meant to stop.

The road was half-eaten, gouged by rain and salt, the edges soft and unreliable. Her boots sank just enough to be irritating. She’d been walking for a while—no destination, no plan, just a direction that felt better than turning back. Her hood was up, scarf pulled too tight at the neck, fingers stiff in her coat pockets.

The truck looked like it had tried to reason with the shoulder and lost. She might’ve kept walking, but the shape in the driver’s seat moved. Jolted, more like. Then a voice—muffled, defensive.

Irene stepped closer. Not enough to be intrusive, but enough to be seen clearly when the driver twisted toward the window.

“Congratulations,” she said flatly, lifting her voice just enough to carry through the rain. “You’re not dead.”

Her eyes skimmed the truck; stuck good, probably been here a while, cab fogged slightly, the kind of tired that lingered even in posture. Blanket around his shoulders, so either cold or trying to comfort himself. She didn’t care which. She wasn’t judging. Not really.

“You planning on becoming one?” she added, eyes steady. “Because you’re about three hours from the road washing out completely. Give or take.”

She didn’t reach for the door, didn’t crowd him. Just waited there, a half-soaked figure with wind-tangled hair and a stare like she was the one who’d summoned the storm.

“You got anyone coming?” A pause. “Anyone who can make it through this?”

There was no rush in her voice. No panic. Just the kind of tired patience that came from already knowing the answer.

who: open where: the side of the road

He manages not to fully skid off of the shoulder of the road, the emergency brake coming in clutch at the very last second. The engine groans a little as Kevin puts the truck into park before shutting off the engine entirely. Rolling the window down, he sticks his head out the window and can tell that the back wheel is stuck in the mud and there was no way it was getting out without help. His head is mostly drenched when he pulls it back into the cab and he sighs, banging it gently against the headrest.

His phone is open on the center console next to him, Kali's message still flashing brightly across the screen.

"Get off that man's dick and go home."

He had missed the message at first, mostly because he was on the man's dick, but he doesn't really think that extra 90 seconds would have mattered that much in the grand scheme of things. Either way, he and his truck are now both stuck in the rain, and he can already feel his joints reacting to the drop in air pressure. It feels like sandpaper rubbing against his bones, and he leans over to his glove compartment to grab his stash of edibles. He sure as hell wasn't driving anytime soon.

Since he's unable to run the engine, he reaches into the back seat to grab one of the blankets he keeps for Saturn. It's got dog hair all over it, but it smells like her so he wraps it around his shoulder and tries to find a comfortable position in his seat. He sends a couple texts out, to people who might be wondering where he is, but there is a big fat red "!" letting him know that nothing was being delivered. With his battery only at half, he sighs, turning off every app he wasn't using to try and preserve it for as long as possible.

Kevin's not sure if he falls asleep or lets the weed lull him into a comfortable doze, but he jumps when he hears a knock on the driver's seat window. His knee cracks uncomfortably from the movement, and he grunts as he shifts, looking out at the blurry figure in the storm. "I'm fine!" he tries to shout through the window. "It's dry and I can wait it out!"

Irene’s eyes flicked up just long enough to catch the shape of the woman behind the counter before dropping back to her screen. One corner of her mouth tugged — not quite a frown, not quite amusement.

“Goody Stephens isn’t in,” she said simply. “Hasn’t been for a while.”

She finally set the tablet aside, screen darkening with a quiet blink, and leaned back in the chair like someone bracing for a shift in weather. The stranger —no, not quite a stranger, not if she knew where the burdock root was kept and didn’t flinch at the smell of the drying room —had that familiar kind of confidence that came with previous access.

“She’s not here,” Irene said, tone dry but not unkind. “But I can take the parcel.”

She didn’t move to grab it. Instead, her gaze followed Briar’s fingers drumming on the wood. The sound grated just enough to set her nerves on edge, but she said nothing about it. “Yeah,” she said after a beat. “New-ish.” That was all she offered at first.

As for the dreamless tea, she gave the barest shrug. “Nothing fancy. Valerian, skullcap, pinch of nettle. Enough to knock out a restless hedgewitch without leaving ‘em foggy in the morning.” She paused. “Does what it says. No bells. No vampire facials.” That part almost sounded like a joke. Almost.

Then, softer —less like a statement, more like a test, “You worked here before?”

"Oh I wasn't aware Goody Stephens closed shop til dawn, given... well..."

Best not be outing things to new faces, Briar - a bit of subtlety, indeed. This one might be soft-headed, might need held by the hand; it has slowly dawned on her in her some five months living in this town that not all are quite so well equipped to handle the mania of the second, darker world lurking below the obvious.

"I'm simply here to drop off some fresh herbs for her; a gift in exchange for a favor paid; is she not here? Zounds, I'd have spoken with her."

Briar adjusts a parcel under hear arm, drums her heavy acrylics along a counter as she peers about the shop before settling on Irene. "You're new - or I simply haven't been back in a while." Then she's behind the counter, like she knows her way around; Goodwoman Kiri had helped her along in work for those first few months. Now she has slightly more exciting employment, but she's a soft spot for this little shop still.

She leans on the counter then, looking up into the woman's eyes, trying to suss out a first impression. "Dreamless tea, though? Do tell."

She never knows, with things as they are. Things are sold with strange names that are all smoke and spice and no delivery on substance. She'll never forget the disappointment that was vampire facial.

Irene didn’t move. Just listened, hands still shoved deep in her pockets, shoulders angled slightly against the wind. The rain was lighter now, but it came in sideways, the kind that soaked under your collar no matter how tightly you pulled it closed.

She nodded once at his mention of a tow, but it wasn’t quite agreement. More acknowledgment. Heard.

“Not stupid,” she said finally, voice even. “Just stubborn. Which sometimes passes for brave if no one looks too close.”

Her gaze drifted past him, to the road beyond. It was unraveling at the edges, the kind of damage that didn’t look like much until it took a full axle or a boot clean through. She didn’t need to see the tires to know they weren’t moving again without help.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” she added, after a beat. “I’ve seen people hold onto worse for less.”

She stepped a little closer then — just enough to keep from having to raise her voice. The kind of proximity that said she wasn’t going anywhere just yet, not unless something forced her hand.

“Tow might get here. Might not.” Not cruel, just honest. “You’ve got time. But not forever.”

Her baby blues met his, steady through the streaked window. “If it gets worse, and it will, I’ll be back this way before it goes fully under. You don’t want the rescue team in this town. They charge in favors.”

A pause. Not a threat. Just a truth laid flat.

“I’m not here to drag you out.” She tilted her head slightly. “But I’m not gonna pretend you’ll be fine either.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, like she was offering a breadcrumb instead of a lifeline. “There’s a diner about a mile and a half back. Runs a generator when the lines go out. You change your mind, you’ll make it there if you leave before sundown.”

She let that hang. Didn’t push. Just let the storm speak for a minute instead.

He would never again say that people in Port Leiry didn't give a damn because what the fuck. At least this one doesn't seem insistent in doing something drastic like breaking his window and dragging him out, but he doesn't want to give her the chance. He watches warily as she stands in the storm, unbothered like the weather isn't raging around them and threatening property damage and loss of life.

But the way she leaves him be allows him to let his guard down a tiny bit. He's too tired to fight. He understands why people want him to get out, hates that he's placing an additional burden on them they don't need. He tries not to think about if the worst does happen, and the guilt these people might feel. Maybe not the bear, but Autumn and Lis. They knew. They would know if he was swept away, but he clings to faith because it's all he has.

"A friend is calling a tow," he tells her, and that is the truth. Whether they'll be able to make it through is anyone's guess. "Look, I know it's stupid and ridiculous but-" he sighs. It feels like losing the truck would be losing the last part of his past that reminds him why to keep pressing forwards. "I can't walk in this storm. It's the only option I have." The only option he's willing to take.

Irene doesn’t move.

Not when he steps closer. Not when his voice drips that low, jagged warning. Not even when the storm seems to lean in with him, like it, too, wants to see what happens when something snaps.

She just stands there — still and utterly unshaken, like the world’s spun meaner things at her and she’s long since stopped ducking.

Her gaze tracks his approach with the kind of measured calm that doesn’t come from arrogance, but experience — the cruel, quiet kind that’s buried friends and enemies both, and didn’t much flinch at either. Her fingers twitch once at her side, maybe muscle memory, maybe restraint. No visible weapon. No posturing. Just that look. Sharp and old and wholly unimpressed.

At his caperucita, her brow ticks up.

“Cute,” she murmurs. “You practice that one, or just bark it at anyone in red?”

The wind shifts again — hard this time — and her coat flares at the hem like it wants to fly, the scent of iron and wolfsbane rising faint in the air between them. Not fresh-cut. Older. Embedded. She doesn’t need to show him where it’s hidden. That’s the point.

Her voice stays low. Calm. But it cuts cleaner now.

“Funny thing about wolfsbane —” she says, tone drifting like smoke from a slow-burning fire, “— it comes in different forms. Tinctures, powders. Oils that don’t even smell like anything until your lungs start to collapse.”

She steps once, not toward him, not away. Just enough that the gap between them feels sharper. Like it means something more now.

“So I’d be careful.”

Her baby blues narrow, not cruel — just real. Tired in the way only people who’ve survived monsters are tired. “Like I said. You’re not on my list. Yet. But don’t mistake that for mercy.”

Her chin tilts slightly, just enough to read the shape of him again. Rage, hunger, grief all coiled together in a too-tight skin. She’s seen it before. Worn a version of it once. But she’s not about to be the one who breaks first.

“So be a good boy,” Irene says, almost gently. “Back away. Because yeah — maybe I end up with a bite. But you?”

She leans in just a breath, enough that her voice can flatten into something harder beneath the calm.

“You’ll end up dead. No matter the scenario. Odds aren’t in your favor.”

Then, softer again — a shrug of her coat, eyes already turning past him. Dismissal, deliberate and cold.

“And like I said. I don’t make messes I’m not ready to clean up.”

         her whole holier than-wiser than-better than act makes him want to fucking kill her. he supposes coming back home was supposed to mean he was on his best behavior- or at least better than before. before, when he had killed just for the crime of daring to exist, his own bloodlust all-consuming. but this time, he had a reason. she’s provoking him, he’d provoked her. she’s a hunter. that’s reason enough. and it’s not like being on his better behavior had stopped him before. the curse doesn’t care about promises, the wolf even less. the wolf takes his anger, the rage that burns and curls in his chest, spreading to his limbs. his mind had never mattered, logical thinking and inhibitory control skipped right over in favor of emotion, of passion. pride, too. the wolf doesn’t want him walking away, not when he could taste blood beneath his teeth. 

         he can smell the metal she’s got stuffed somewhere on her, wonders how long it could take her to whip out whatever hunter trickery makes her think she can take on a wolf, before he’s got his teeth in her. even somewhat human, dark eyed and feral, he could make the bite lethal. césar doesn’t care about listening anymore, he doesn’t care about nightmares, what she has to say. whatever glimmer of interest, the herb that had glanced through his senses, familiar. he doesn’t give a fuck. all it takes is one relax, pup for his nerves to flare and now, now he’s dangerous. he wants to hold life in his jaw and be the one to take it away, he doesn’t care who it is.

         rough from the growl, his voice reaches a low, raspy tone as it crawls from his throat. dying, vibrating with rage.  “ yeah, i’m done fucking barking. ”  it chokes out with a dry laugh, the thing stifling his words is not hesitation, is not fear, but it doesn’t take any mind reading bullshit to figure that out. his demeanor tells that story, hulking and predatory. that’s his threat, that she couldn’t stop him. she could hurt him, she could kill him, punish him for ruining her pretty fair skin, for making tears spur in judgy blue eyes from the pain. but she couldn’t stop him, not really.

         he walks closer, stalking, doesn’t reach her entirely, and keeps enough space between them that his teeth are kept at bay. for now, for now, for now. just put to the side enough that he’s thinking of blowing right past her, going to bury his teeth into some bunny. to stay alive for avi, to stay alive for teo. maybe it’s the storm that brings out that heart in him.  “ i’m a lot bigger than you, caperucita. what you got that’s so bad? ”  césar doesn’t know why, but he can smell something deeper than the knife.

Irene didn’t flinch when Allie touched her — not really — but there was the faintest shift in her posture, the smallest roll of her shoulders like some old, instinctual tension had stirred from its sleep. Still, she let her take her hand. Let her tuck the flower behind her ear like it was nothing. Like it didn’t burn with the strange warmth of being chosen.

“Matching, huh?” Irene’s voice was quieter now, almost rough with the effort of keeping something leveled out beneath it. “Dangerous thing to do with someone like me.”

But she didn’t pull away.

She didn’t know what it was about Allie — the way she moved through the world like it hadn’t taught her to flinch yet, or maybe like she’d learned to laugh through the ache anyway. Irene remembered that feeling. Not well, but well enough to recognize the ghost of it. Back when her magic still had wonder in it. Before it twisted under the weight of what she’d had to make it do.

Allie’s magic pulsed gentle — alive and bright like sun-warmed petals and laughter too early in the morning. Irene’s had teeth. It could peel the paint off reality if she let it. No comparison, really. No overlap. But it was impossible not to wonder, just for a second, what it might have felt like to be the kind of girl who danced instead of watched.

What it might’ve meant to laugh with her, instead of being the one standing in the storm with a pocket full of warnings and a blade under her tongue.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

Her fingers came up — slow, steady — brushing just once against the flower behind her ear like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“Alright, come on,” she said, voice firm again. Not unkind, but all the softness tucked neatly back behind the grit. “Let’s get you out of here. It’s not safe.”

She glanced once toward the street, water swirling in gutters and lightning stretching pale veins across the dark sky.

Irene shifted her coat open slightly, just enough to drape one side around Allie’s soaked shoulders. She didn’t ask if she needed it. She just did it. Quiet, certain, like it was the only thing in the world that made sense right now. “This isn’t a place for bare feet and pretty things.”

         irene gets that same bright affection as she always does, allie’s always happy to see a familiar face. the early morning brings a potent enthusiasm, the rain a chill that ups the swallowtails in her heart to hummingbirds. her pulse becomes a steady hum, instead of a beat she can track. faster and faster and faster until allie’s bouncing on her toes. it keeps her warm, and it keeps her from springing forward to envelop irene in a very wet and cold hug. she giggles, shaking her head, shaking off irene’s warning about the mud. how’s she supposed to feel the ground, if she has her shoes on? silly, silly, silly.  “ you’re so silly, nothing bad’s gonna’ happen to me. ”

         her smile beams soon after, half-way preening, irene’s words feel special. you seem happy is like a treasure amongst the usual clouds of distrust that allie fights her way through with sweet smiles and cheerful words. “ i am happy. ”  and, really, she is, listening to irene with interest and curious eyes and-

         … guess there’s a first time for everything. “ really?! ”  the words spill out of her mouth, faster than she can process them, the same going with her eager hands, going to land on irene’s own. she manages softness, in that all-consuming, fond excitement.

         but as she turns back to irene, so giddy she almost trips over her own two feet, she realizes there’s something … missing. “ oh, oh wait- ”  the fabric of her skirt is completely soaked, which means finding the pocket of it with clumsy fingers is even harder than normal. blue eyes dart down as she finds another yellow flower, one like the bloom she had tucked behind her own ear. in allie’s warm palm, the flower breathes new life. its thirst satiated by the rain, it looks just as pretty as it did when she’d plucked it from the ground. allie reaches up to tuck it behind irene’s ear, smiling warmly as her hand flutters away, admiring her friend and the flower.  “ there, now we match! ”

Irene didn’t look up right away.

She just nodded once — a little jerk of her chin — and dragged another fry through the pool of ketchup on her tray. Casual, like it wasn’t anything. Like letting someone close was muscle memory instead of a thing that still made her ribs itch.

But when the other woman settled across from her, tray clinking softly against the table’s metal edge, Irene let herself glance over. Quick. Subtle.

And something tugged.

Not recognition, not fully — but that odd prickle you get when a face lingers in your periphery a second too long, like a dream you almost remembered. There was a kind of unsettled weight around her shoulders, not loud, not dramatic, but familiar in the way Irene had learned to clock in strangers. A restlessness. Like she was trying to fit into skin that didn’t feel like hers yet.

It made Irene’s jaw tighten.

The kind of familiar that made her instinctively brace — not for danger, but for the part of herself that might start hoping for connection before she could stop it.

She didn’t stare. Wouldn’t let herself.

Instead, she dropped her gaze back to her food. Took a sip of her milkshake to buy herself a second. Vanilla and too sweet. It clung to the back of her throat like a childhood she didn’t have.

“Yeah,” she said after a beat, voice quieter now, more of a murmur. “Place fills up fast when the air stops biting.”

The patio was lit in a way that made everything seem a little softer than it probably was — string lights looping lazy over the tables, dogs barking and kids laughing like the world hadn’t tried to chew them up yet. Irene watched a lab mix skid across the pavement chasing a tennis ball and felt the corner of her mouth twitch. Not a smile. Not quite. But close.

Her eyes flicked back up, briefly.

“You new to the area?” she asked, not because she cared — or, at least, that’s what she told herself — but because the question hung there anyway. Like it wanted to be spoken.

She popped another fry into her mouth. Chewed slow.

Something about the girl’s presence pressed quiet against the noise in Irene’s chest. Not gone, not even dulled — just… held, maybe. For a moment.

She nudged the tray a little toward the middle. A silent offer. A peacekeeping gesture. Irene didn’t share food. Not usually. But this wasn’t usual.

She still hadn’t asked her name. Didn’t want to ask why she looked like someone from a dream Irene might’ve had once. Didn’t want to know if she’d show up in another one later.

“Try the fries,” she said instead, finally glancing back up — just long enough to meet her eyes. “They’re the only thing here better than the milkshakes.”

A beat.

“And the milkshakes are pretty damn good.”

This is one of the things she's had trouble getting used to since her turning. The hunger, an appetite far bigger than the one she used to have, and for things far heavier than what she used to eat. And as she looked around the crowded place, she lamented once more her new affinity for greasier, heavier food.

But she had needed to get out of the apartment, even if somehow, it felt slightly better, less tight, less suffocating. The walls no longer collapsing on her, the silence no as deafening as it was when she first moved there. She imagined it had to do with a redheaded wolf and the hangout place they've asked her to visit, the wolves that hang around there that can't see beyond her wolf. That don't know of the past life she carried before this.

She thinks of the blonde girl that's a new familiar face around the cafe. And a smile finds her lips all over again, as she looks down at the trail in her hands. But she shakes herself out of it, looks around once more and finds no empty seat.

Sky had almost given up, resigned to sitting somewhere on the floor or go back and asked for it to be packed to go when she catches the girl's voice, and she looks at her with a grown, and surprise in her face. She looks comfortable in her table, but Sky takes the invitation anyway, sitting opposite the other, trying to make herself small. "Thanks... I wasn't expecting this to be so packed."

WHO: @miyazakit WHERE: Goju Dojo

The dojo was quieter than she expected. Not silent, exactly—there was a hum to it, like a held breath or something waiting to begin, but quiet in that grounded way that pressed against her ribs and forced her to slow down. Think. Breathe.

Irene didn’t usually come to places like this. Places where people had rules and forms and discipline built into their bones. But she needed something, and she’d heard just enough about Tetsuya Goju to know he didn’t waste time asking questions.

The soles of her boots didn’t quite belong against the polished floors. She stood near the entrance for a beat too long, coat folded over one arm, eyes scanning the empty mats. Nothing sacred in these walls, she’d been told. Still—it felt cleaner than most places in the city. Like someone had fought for the quiet here.

She'd booked the session under a fake name. Just in case. People remembered Irene too easily.

When he stepped into view, she straightened. Didn’t smile. Just nodded, curt.

“I’m not here for enlightenment,” she said, tone flat but not unkind. “I just need to hit something.”

A pause.

“A few times.”