I’d once been told that having golden eyes was impossible with mine being the only known exception. However, with regeneration also being considered impossible, I never questioned the colour of my eyes. That was until I saw this man who shared the same hue in his iris.

When those eyes bore into mine, I realised just how inherently unnatural that colour was. Compared to more conventional colours, his appeared to lack a sense of humanity. There was also something else about those stern eyes that I couldn't tell what he wanted from me. With how vehemently he stared at him, it didn’t seem as though he’d just accidentally walked down the wrong street.

“Anthony Wright, aged twenty-three, passed away 273 days ago due to a bullet wounded in his lower abdomen,” he oddly stated, his voice carrying this harrowing quality as he punctuated each word. “But I’m sure you’re already aware of that.”

My fist was already beginning to clench as I narrowed my eyes at him cautiously. I didn't recall seeing him at the funeral, which only made his knowledge about the situation more peculiar.

“And what’s that supposed to mean? Were you familiar with Mister Wright?”

“No, I’m just an observer like you,” he responded, his voice calm yet carrying a hint of animosity.

"I'm unsure what you mean by that, sir. Could you speak more plainly, or are you unable to?" I questioned, matching his harshness in tone.

“I just thought you would’ve figured it out by now,” he said, scowling as my words seemed to grate him. “I didn’t think you’d be so ignorant in this new life.”

New life?

Just what nonsense was this man going on about?

“Do I know you?”

“You should, unless you truly don’t remember anything at all. And if that were the case, you’re more disappointing than I anticipated.”

Did this man know me? I certainly didn’t recognise him, but he spoke to me with a certain familiarity. And then there was that displeasure growing in his eyes, almost darkening the golden glow emitting from them. It’d been some time since someone looked at me with such resentment.

“I’ll ask you again, are you unable to speak more straightforwardly—”

“What’s going on here?”

I stopped when a familiar voice called out to us from behind this man. When I glanced over his shoulder, I saw the very person I'd been searching for this entire time just standing there.

Of course, he had to appear the very moment I wasn’t actively looking for him.

But there was something different about the air around him. He wore this uncharacteristically stern expression as he took in the scene with caution. I'd only seen that look when I had pointed a gun at his head.

“Nothing at all,” the golden-eyed man said dismissively, yet his gaze remained fixated on me with a subtle glare. “I was just about to leave.”

Without saying another word to either of us, he turned around and walked past the blonde, their gazes meeting for a brief second. His golden eyes hardened into a deeper glare at that man before he walked completely past him.

There was this inexplicable feeling of déjà vu that hit from that encounter. Something about that man was just familiar.

“Miss, are you alright? That fellow didn't hurt you, did he?"

I snapped out of my momentary daze as his voice reached my ears. I looked up at him, my face already inactively hardening. He'd already walked towards me, that sternness fading into a look of concern.

“You did not have to intervene.”

He slowly furrowed his brows at me. “Well, I apologise. I was unaware you enjoyed being harassed by random men at night, but you still didn’t answer my question. Did he hurt you?”

“No,” I curtly responded with a sigh, though my fist was starting to relax. However, my mind was still running with thoughts about that encounter. "I'm fine."

“Well thank God then, I'd hate to be involved with a crime scene. But I have to ask, what exactly are you doing out here? You’re not hoping to be mugged, are you?”

“I was looking for you.”

He gave me a blank stare, blinking a few times as if my words hadn't registered in his brain. He then pointed to himself. "You were looking for me?"

“Yes."

“What on earth for?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up with disbelief. “I can’t imagine why you would be running out on the streets like a wild goose just to look for me when you seemed so eager to leave last time.”

While I disagreed about the goose part—then again, I wasn't quite sure exactly what a 'goose' was—he wasn't that wrong about every else. Despite that, I was already silently debating if I should've even bothered as I was reminded of how exhausting it was speaking to him.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what exactly?”

“For the directions you gave me before.” While my voice was monotone, I was being honest. There was still a small part of me that wanted to thank him for the kindness he’d offered me when we were those trenched. But I knew I couldn’t, so I had to settle for this. “They were useful.”

He continued to stare at me, eyebrows still raised incredulously. I didn’t think there was anything particularly unusual with saying ‘thank you’. Had the manner in which I said it been socially inappropriate?

“Well, you’re welcome I suppose,” he said, his mouth curving upwards slightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone seek me out so recklessly just to thank me for something so menial.”

To be honest, I wasn't that sure either why I'd so impulsively sought him out the moment I saw him. I also couldn’t understand why he’d offered his help to me, or even why he interfered with that man earlier. I was a stranger to him, just as he was to me.

“While it was menial, that doesn’t diminish the value your assistance brought me.”

"I do think you're exaggerating mildly, I'm glad I could still help. I’m assuming that person you were visiting was rather important then?”

I nodded. I hadn’t expected it to be that important, but I didn’t regret it. His eyes remained on me through my silence, seeming curious about the details, but he didn’t push for more information.

“Well, if that was the case, would you let me ask you for a favour in return?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What is it?”

“Would you finally tell me your name?”

I cocked my head, my eyes only narrowing more. Was that really all he wanted? Surely not.

“Why do you want to know?” I questioned, unsure why he’d waste a potential favour on something so insignificant. Did he have some other motive for wanting my name?

“Well, up to this point I’ve been calling you ‘Miss Sulker’ in my head,” he teased with a faint smile. “I figured I should start calling you something else unless you wanted a different nickname.”

My expression quickly dropped, growing unamused by his response. Would he ever stop mentioning the nonexistent sulking I did that night? I was about to tell him I didn’t have a name until I remembered that I did possess one now.

“It’s Irene Davis.”

“Irene Davis,” he murmured, the words rolling smoothly on his tongue. It felt strange to finally have a name to introduce myself by, and even stranger to have someone say it out loud. “Jesse Callisto. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you.”

He extended his right hand to me. Holding it out with an expectant look. I could vaguely recall seeing this gesture among some of the soldiers before. One of them would extend a hand and the other would move to grip it firmly before they both shook each other.

I assumed that this was what he was inviting me to do as well; so I brought my hand up to his and gripped onto it. Hard. His hand felt warm and I felt callouses along his palm.

“Likewise.”

“You have a very firm grip, Miss Irene Davis,” he said, repeating my name as if he wanted to test it out loud again. I wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a compliment and I wondered if I was gripping too hard, but he didn’t show any indication of pain. After a few moments, he finally released my hand from his.

"I have to leave now," I said as my returned to my side.

“Don’t tell me you’re already eager to leave, we’ve only just started talking.”

“I am though.”

He raised an eyebrow at my words. “Do you really have to put it so bluntly?”

“I thought you said my bluntness was refreshing.”

“You really do like using my words against me, don’t you?”

I sighed, unsure how long I’d be able to keep this up. “If you had to know, I ran from a company dinner when I saw you pass by so they’re expecting me to return soon.”

“I’m sorry, you did what?”

“I ran from—”

“No, I heard you the first time,” he cut me off, eyeing me incredulously. There was a mix of amusement and disbelief on his face. “You probably shouldn’t have done that. Honestly, I don’t know what I would think if someone did that at one of my company dinners.”

“Is it rude to do so?”

“Yes, mildly,” he said, but couldn't help but chuckle. “Let’s hope this boss of yours won’t be too mad.”

While Davis being mad wasn’t something I could easily imagine, I still made a mental reminder to apologise to him when I returned.

“Hopefully not, but I’ll take be going now.”

“I understand, though, I hope I’ll be able to run into you again soon, Miss Davis.”

Again...

Would we ever meet again? Was it even a good idea to risk such a thing? Regardless of any of that, he seemed quite sure we would, and that alone was a good enough reason not to.

“Good night, Mister Callisto.”

That was all I said before turning on my heels and walking back to the restaurant.

When I returned, Davis seemed to be fairly distressed by my abrupt leaving. And to my surprise, both Francesca and Alfred also scolded me for my actions. Though, Hendrik didn’t seem to care.

“Why did you even run off like that?” Davis asked, appearing to have grown a few extra grey hairs in the time I left. I paused for a moment, considering how much I should tell them.

“I saw a strange man and wanted to speak with him.”

I don’t think my response did much to calm them down.