Inside a small coffeehouse, Mahala browsed the various pastries on the front display; flaky pastries stuffed with raisins, nuts, or shredded coconut, and a selection of candied strawberries, apple, and orange slices. She picked two wooden skewers with strawberries coated in caramelised sugar with soft bits of nougat between them.

“How much?” Mahala asked, reaching into her purse.

“No, no, we couldn’t charge Lady Pesh for a treat!” said the girl behind the counter. She held out the two skewers with a flushed face. “Please! You already do so much for us all!”

Mahala gave her a rehearsed smile in return and accepted the skewers. The coffeehouse was thankfully bare, with only a couple of patrons having asked her for a handshake and a few words.

Luck sat in the corner of the shop, hunched over a table tucked away in a corner booth. 

It would have been safer to eat inside the car, but Mahala could not help herself. The coffeehouse invited her deeper into its quaint sitting area that smelled like pastries, velvet cushion chairs, and a radio playing a cool jazz track.

Outside, she faintly heard a public loudspeaker drone away a regular broadcast. “Attention, Capital citizens. Please be vigilant with symptoms of the wyrm plague…” 

Far better to be indoors.

“Luck!” Mahala called, holding out a skewer. “Have you ever had one of these before?”

Luck stared at it. “I don’t believe so.”

“We had these all the time back in my hometown,” Mahala said wistfully, sitting across from him. “Last summer, Adelei and I tried to make these ourselves and we failed miserably.”

She bit into a strawberry, crackling through the sweet coating and into the sour, chewy centre. Luck stared at her. She hid her mouth behind a hand.

“D-Did I get some on me?” she garbled, her cheeks burning.

“No. Apologies, my lady. I was thinking about something,” he said. She offered him the second skewer again but he shook his head. “Not good for a soldier’s diet.”

Mahala doubted that, recalling the other homunculi happily snacking on sweets and jerky, but didn’t push him. She happily tore through the snack, sliding each piece off the skewer and into her mouth, relishing in the chewiness of the nougat between the crunch of the crisp shell of the candied strawberries. Thank goodness they had picked a corner, or she wouldn’t have been able to enjoy them half as much.

The lack of others staring is what made Luck’s intense expression stand out all the more.

“You’re going to make me embarrassed if you keep watching me eat,” said Mahala, this time without stuffed cheeks. “You’re sure you don’t want something?”

“Apologies,” he said again. This time, he fully turned his head from her, scanning the coffeehouse. Or at least, she thought. The black sceleras made it difficult to guage his line of sight.

He had his hood down for once, showing short hair sticking up and fuzzy from the friction. The wrinkled heavy brow, half-mask, and fully black eyes were most certainly from Tibalt Kinderum, though. Most Pomolish men didn’t realise the mask was part of his face — the chitin faceplate concealed his mouth underneath. While many homunculi made some slight cosmetic differences that could differentiate them, Luck didn’t adhere to the same habit. Mahala didn’t need him to. She knew her Luck.

She swallowed down her fruit, mulling over her companion. This is probably about…

“You and Shuteye don’t get along, do you?” she said. “You should make up. You are brothers.”

Luck sighed, slouching slightly. “I wish you didn’t have to see that. I acted discourteously. Please excuse my language earlier.”

Mahala touched his shoulder, hopefully mimicking the same way he did for her.

“It’s alright,” she said.

“Shuteye was right though. He could have sent you straight home with an advanced spell,” Luck continued.

Mahala offered him a tired smile, her cheeks sore from her usual celebrity ones. She hoped he didn’t mind.

“If I had just gone home, it would have meant leaving you behind. And we wouldn’t have found this wonderful shop. Besides, I’ve spent time today with children and with Adelei, so it’s nice to enjoy this treat with you.” Mahala took a confident bite out of the second skewer. “So please don’t tell father I’m spoiling my dinner. Or that I didn’t get him one of these.”

That finally earned a small chuckle from Luck. His smile reached his eyes and he sat up straighter.

“Of course, my lady,” he said. “...Thank you."

His glove barely tickled her skin, but it sent a small shock to her heart. He had never touched her face before. Never needed to. She felt hyper-aware of everything at the brief moment. Her lips, still sticky with sugar. She could feel his body heat even through the thick layer of the leather glove. And she felt, even with his dark eyes, that he was staring right at her. If Adelei hadn’t pointed it out, she wouldn’t have thought anything unusual about him.

Was it the scleras that unsettled Adelei? Nothing reflected in his gaze, no hint of light, but the way his wrinkles creased around them like a smile felt… comforting.

Luck blinked, realising he had touched her face, and retracted his hand.

“Apologies, still distracted,” he murmured, averting his gaze.

Mahala’s cheeks grew hot. “I-It’s fine. Did I have sugar on my face? I can’t walk around like that in public.” 

“...Yes. Don’t worry, it’s gone.”

She wiped her face with a napkin just to be sure. He had just been helping her, that was all. Nothing to be flustered about. If only she could tell that to her rapidly beating heart. 

A heavy thump at the window broke her thoughts. Mahala was the only one that jumped. Several fists banged at the glass, screams echoing through the air. She no longer saw her motorcar, the road, or the houses. There was only fire as people screamed, banging on the windows with desperate bloody fists, broken nails, and feverish eyes as they desperately tried to escape the fire.

“HELP US!” they screeched.

“NOTHOS!”

“LORD PROTECTOR, PLEASE!”

“MERCY, GOD! MERCY!”

A forktongue shrieked above her, so loud it rang in her ears, deafening all the rest.

Mahala choked, her body locked together, unable to tear away from the hellscape.

“L-Lu…” she rasped. Get me out of here.

A shrill chime cut through the ringing. Her chauffeur stepped into the coffeehouse, cramming his cap over his head, shivering from the afternoon chill.

“Um, milady. Radio says the roads are clear now,” he announced.

Her eyes flitted back to the window; the fire gone, the street empty. The two other guests were still giggling amongst themselves like nothing happened. The girl behind the till stole a few glances at Mahala’s direction, her face even pinker. Luck was calm and collected.

I’m not there. That’s not here. The taste of candy melted from her mouth, dripping through her teeth like ash instead. 

And then it was sweet again, Luck rising from his seat, offering his hand to Mahala. “We should return home then. You still need to pack for your trip to the quarantine zone.”

She gripped his hand tighter than she remembered but he said nothing, escorting her until they reached the car. She felt a little more aware of how close they were as they walked, close and looming like a shadow. For half a second she wondered what it would be like to be held by him.

Don’t be silly!

He was her bodyguard. A soldier born to keep the peace in Pomolin, homunculi of the Pale Magus, and she was the Lady of Pomolin, responsible for serving her people just as her father, the Lord Protector, did.

The motorcar passed by the town; aligned with tidy rows of narrow buildings with autumn trees littering gold-brown leaves on the street.

She saw the moonshiner from before impaled in the town square on an upright spear, two men on spears next to her. Blood trickled down the moonshiner’s face from the single gunshot she would have received. A small crowd had quickly formed around them, gossiping amongst themselves about the drama that unfolded for the past hour.

“Stay sober, stay clear-minded!” a constable roared, pointing at the bodies. “This is the price of your vice!”

As per the Lord Protector’s mercy, the criminals were set alight as a priest stepped forward with a prayer. To burn away everything but the soul was the final dignity all men deserved. 

In the corner of her vision, she spotted another homunculi on the roof of a shrine. She blinked, and he was gone. She sighed and sank deeper into her seat.

Thank Nothos the Capital’s safe again.